


Establishing an Accord

by captainmazzic (lordtarantula)



Series: The Sith Tribunal AU [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Side Positivity, Fictional politics, Gen, Heilon is a straw man but he is also a dynamic character, Jedi Critical, Mental Torture, References to off-screen torture, Smoking, jedi pretentiousness, nobody fucks in this story, space cigarettes, terribly timed skips in the narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 16:01:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17625440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordtarantula/pseuds/captainmazzic
Summary: After Adrestin bluffs the Jedi Council by demanding a prisoner exchange in return for Sivin's life, A Jedi Master named Burdock Heilon receives the report and gets curious about the names of the two Sith prisoners that the mysterious Darth Belus mentioned...





	1. Cinaede.

**Author's Note:**

> This side story takes place between the events of Opening Dialogue's Chapter 15 and Chapter 46, but is intended to be read after those so you can get an idea of where Heilon came from and how he got to the Enclave in the first place.
> 
> I'm covering a LOT of time in just three chapters, so there are lengthy and frequent skips in the narrative. Hopefully it doesn't read as being TOO terribly disjointed.

“The other name was Cinaede?”

The agent nodded. “That is what Master Braga said. The Sith that was holding Master Ikalruq hostage mentioned a Darth Gallus and Darth Cinaede for exchange. When pressed for a single trade, he selected Darth Gallus.” She scrolled through her datapad, scanning for the relevant information. “Darth Gallus is apparently a Rodian Sith that Argent Legion picked up a few months back, Unit Jenth I think. He’s young, mouthy, and stupid, according to his interrogators. Nothing special. Stars know why this… Darth Belus… Sith picked _him_ to return over the other.” She tapped the edge of her datapad. “But it looks like this Darth Cinaede is the same as the Cinaedus that Unit Peth picked up ages ago. Sith Assassin. Only got caught on the job because their target was in a house that caught on fire due to an entirely unrelated arson. Getting them in was ugly, if the report was anything to go by. They kept… ‘shifting around’, report says. They’re some kind of morphing amphibian. Eliminated Unit Osk single-handedly, and half of Unit Peth, before Peth managed to bring them down. I’m surprised they brought them in alive.”

Jedi Master Burdock Heilon leaned back in his chair and motioned for the datapad as the autoigniter on his Flyntarian tabac stick flared to life. “That is the purpose of these acquisitions, Agent Basrel. And one of Argent Legion’s major directives. To collect Sith alive for purging and interrogation.”

“I understand that, sir.” She shrugged as she handed him the datapad. “But if it had been my unit, I would have deemed them too dangerous to hold. Alive, that is. According to our sources, they’re one of the Sith’s best infiltrators and assassins.”

Heilon nodded as he inspected the screen and blew out a cloud of blue-green smoke. “We’ve had them in custody for… How long now?”

“Eighteen Coruscanti months.”

“Have they cracked?”

“Not unless you mean jokes. Hasn’t given even a millimeter to our interrogators. Suggests tea parties and interior décor options instead. They’ve been driving our team mad.”

Heilon snorted and tossed the datapad onto his desk. “I think it’s time we started playing hardball with this one. There has to be a reason this Darth Belus wanted this particular assassin released. We’ll never know why he wanted Gallus, what’s done is done, but perhaps we can figure out why Cinaede is so important. Cinaedus. Whatever.” He slid his chair back and got to his feet, brushing imaginary lint off of his uniform. “Have the assassin transferred to Coruscant immediately, Agent Basrel. I will take over their interrogation personally.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The high security transport ship hissed and beeped as its landing thrusters aligned with the docking pad, deep inside the massive spike of a prison tower that functioned as a receiving area for high-risk prisoners. Burdock Heilon stood beside Agent Basrel with his hands clasped behind his back and tabac stick between his teeth, patiently waiting for the two dozen guards to disembark with their dangerous cargo centered among them. Darth Cinaedus was bound hand and foot within a stasis field upon a repulsorlift, eyes blindfolded, mouth gagged, and ears plugged. Four guards stood at each corner of the lift with blasters trained perpetually on the immobile figure as the others guided the lift down the massive hall that led to the depths of the prison.

Heilon fell into step behind the elaborate escort, and raised an eyebrow down at Agent Basrel. “This Cinaedus is… er…”

She smirked. “Tiny little thing, eh?”

“Certainly not what I expected.”

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow. “Didn’t you study the files?”

He shrugged. “I read them, yes. End to end. Several times. But once you’ve seen one Sith, you’ve seen them all. Species doesn’t matter much once they are tainted by the Dark Side. I didn’t bother looking at their picture.”

Agent Basrel pursed her lips. “Oh, well then. You’re in for a few surprises then, I guess. I have some red tape to wrap up about finalizing the transfer, so I’ll check in later. Enjoy meeting your new Sith, Master Heilon. This one is… this one’s an interesting one.” She steepled her fingers to her chest before veering to the side and down a hall branching off of the main walkway.

Heilon shook his head at her retreating form and chuckled to himself as he stubbed his tabac stick out on the duracrete with the toe of his boot. “Just one Sith. How interesting can they be?”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The interrogation room was like any other. No windows and black floors, ceiling, and walls, with garish lighting and an ambient temperature just a few degrees too cool for whatever species it was trying to currently contain. A single bench in the same matte black ran the length of the back wall, just a little too narrow for an average-sized humanoid to be comfortable. On that bench the guards had placed Darth Cinaede – or Cinaedus, honestly Master Heilon still had no idea which one was the typo and which one was the actual name – and now those guards had just removed the blindfold, ear plugs, and gag. They took a step back to give Heilon some room, and he pulled up a rolling chair he had swiped from the receiving desk outside. “Greetings, Sith. I am Jedi Master Burdock Heilon. I will be functioning as your new interrogator.”

The strange amphibious Sith sitting before him flicked narrowed eyes up and down his form before breaking out into a wide smile. A gravely voice echoed his name in peppy tones. “Good morning, Jedi Master Burdock Heilon.”

Heilon smirked. “And how would you know whether it is morning or not? You have had no shred of contact with the outside world for the entire length of time you have been in custody.”

The narrowed eyes widened slowly to take up nearly half of the Sith’s face. “Oh, it’s always morning here on the Republic’s sunny and glorious capital world, the crown jewel of the galaxy, the beautiful and illustrious Coruscant. The suns never set on the grandeur of the Republic, after all.” Their voice rose into a higher, musical chirp. “Pleasure to meet you, Jedi Master Burdock Heilon, member of the Jedi Council, patron of Argent Legion. I’m Darth Cinaede. I suppose I have you to thank for having your division kidnap me in the first place.”

Heilon scoffed. “You were hardly kidnapped. You were apprehended on a botched assassination attempt, and have remained our prisoner ever since.”

“Successful.”

“What?”

Cinaede shrugged. “A _successful_ assassination attempt. I killed my target, thank you very much. It was Senator Garrumn’s house catching on fire that was the botched attempt. I guess her constituents weren’t too happy with her _either,_ if they were willing to resort to arson. I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to play politics, anyway. Why was a Jedi playing senator in the first place?”

A swift flick of Heilon’s hand and Cinaede flinched as though hit. He scowled and leaned forward in his chair. “That is enough out of you. I am _your_ interrogator, not the other way around.”

He only received a lopsided grin in return. “Whatever you say, Jedi Master Burdock Heilon. You know, that’s really long. I’m gonna have to give you a nickname.”

Heilon ignored their jaunty words. “You say your name is Cinaede?” He waved over one of the guards. “Make sure we correct that in the records. There is an error regarding the name of this Sith.”

Cinaede’s head tilted to one side. “You got my name wrong? Seriously?”

Heilon again made a flick with his hand and clapped Cinaede’s mouth shut with the Force. “You appear as both Cinaede and Cinaedus in our records.”

“Mm-hmph.”

Heilon sighed and released his hold in the Force on their jaw. “What?”

“I _said,_ that’s right.”

“…What?”

An enormous eye roll. “Cinaede _is_ my name.” Those eyes suddenly narrowed as Cinaede’s jaw thickened and squared, and once again a gravely voice reached Heilon’s ears. “So is Cinaedus. They’re both me.”

Heilon blinked. “…Ah.” He turned to the guard and raised a finger as if to correct what he had just told her, but turned back to his prisoner instead. “Are you…”

Cin’s head tilted to the other side this time. “Seriously? Pixies of Patitite _Pattuna,_ did I _seriously_ get stuck with the _one Jedi_ in the _entire galaxy_ who’s never met an id-shifter?”

Heilon shook his head rapidly. “Of _course_ I have, I just – ” he pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a slow breath. “Alright. So you’re an id-shifter. And obviously of one of the few species that is actually able to physically morph as well.”

“I’m lucky like that.” Cin’s bright smile returned. “And depending on which records you’re looking at, my species is called Lowen or Shaull. Look us up sometime. That’s about _all_ the info you’ve got floating around on us. Homeworld’s labeled wrong too. Guess mucking up names runs in the fam.” They leaned back against the stark wall behind them. “I’ll make it easy on you, though, at least regarding me. You’ll know when I’m Cinaede and when I’m Cinaedus. I’m usually Cinaede, but I’m _really_ not picky about pronouns. You can call me Cin for short regardless, it’s much easier that way. Just don’t call me Cinny. Classmates tried that when I was a wee acolyte. Didn’t work out for them. Pity, I was the only one who survived graduation that year.”

Heilon nodded as he pinched the skin between his eyes harder. “…Right.”

Cin’s smile turned into a shit-eating grin. “I am going to make your life _so,_ _so_ much harder, HeiHei. Can I call you HeiHei? Thanks. This is the blossoming of a beautiful friendship, HeiHei, I can tell.”

Heilon’s only response was an already-weary glance up at the guard, who he swore was trying _very_ hard not to laugh behind her helmet.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Fifty days, Agent Basrel.”

She sighed, but dutifully nodded at her superior. “Yes sir.”

“It has been _fifty days_ since we received Darth Cinaede at this facility, and we have _nothing.”_ Heilon paced back and forth in front of his desk, pausing briefly to glance out the window before turning to cross his arms and stare over at his subordinate. “Nothing _useful,_ at any rate. She is _mocking_ me.”

“No disrespect intended, sir,” Basrel murmured, “But mocking _does_ seem to be what this one does best.”

“I’ve noticed.”

She flinched at his flat stare. “It doesn’t matter. And, we _have_ gotten a few things that might be fruitful.”

Heilon scowled. “If you are referring to the last session, I’m disinclined to agree with you. Diversions. Misdirection. Nothing more. You witnessed four Jedi Masters, myself included, invade that Sith’s mind, _repeatedly,_ and it was as if we skated right through it and popped out on the other side.”

Basrel shrugged. “What about that memory you mentioned of a… what was it, a Tribunal? She tried to cover that up real quick.”

He shook his head and sighed. “It wasn’t so much a memory as just a recollection of a name. That’s all we received.”

“Worth looking into.”

“I doubt it, but if you want to go poking around the records and reports for any mention of a Tribunal related to the Sith Empire, be my guest.”

“Will do, sir.” She saluted and turned on her heel before the door slid shut behind her.

Heilon raised an eyebrow at the closed door. “Waste of time on a wild bantha chase, if you ask me.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Well I’d say that’s progress, sir.”

Heilon ground his teeth around his tabac stick as he stared out at Coruscant’s night sky from his office. “How so, Agent Basrel?”

She shrugged and tapped the datapad Heilon had left on the corner of his desk. “I take a week of slogging through covert monitoring records and intercepted transmissions, finally dig up these bits and pieces about some mysterious Sith Tribunal, and suddenly now Cinaedus is talking? Nice coincidence. And gives us some room to work.”

Heilon whirled around and clenched a fist in front of him. “This is practically _worse._ You found tantalizing traces of evidence that there is a shadow entity within the Sith Empire that the Republic and the Jedi Order knew _nothing_ about, that Argent Legion and the Knights of Gallar should by all rights and purposes be focusing _all_ of our energies and talents on _bringing down,_ now that we know it exists, and our only surviving source of this information is _Darth Cinaed_ _us_ _!”_

Basrel took a step back and sighed, used to her superior’s intensity by now. But she raised a quizzical eyebrow. “We have our source in custody. I fail to see how that’s a bad thing.”

“…It’s not.” Heilon deliberately unclenched his fist and carefully pressed his palms onto the desk, breathing deep. “But the only information he is giving us is… entirely unrelated intel. He divulges information on Imperial war criminals and rogue Sith that even the Empire deems too unstable. I daresay he is all too happy to give us _those_ pieces of information. But anything related to this Tribunal? Nothing. He is adamantly loyal.”

Agent Basrel nodded absently as she reached a hand out to scroll down the datapad. “What about what he told you this morning, though? This thing about a Darth Sordes? All our intel points to him being one of the Empire’s upcoming best and brightest. Hardly loyal if he’s handing _him_ to us on a plate.”

Heilon pinched the bridge of his nose as he nodded. “That puzzled me as well. But it has nothing to do with this Tribunal, so I can assume it is another diversion.”

“Maybe Sordes isn’t connected with this Tribunal. Could be we’re looking at opposing factions, and he’s giving us names of rivals so we’ll do his dirty work for him.”

“I was thinking along those lines, yes,” Heilon nodded. “It is certainly consistent with the nature of the Sith.”

“And Republic CovOps.”

“…What?”

“Either way, he’s giving us _something._ Whether the Sith are infighting or not, this morning he gave you enough intel on this Darth Sordes to eliminate him and his followers completely from the equation. We’d be fools not to use it.”

“I agree.” Heilon sighed as he slid into his desk chair. “As soon as the intel was analyzed, the Council sent a CovOps team led by three of Argent Legion’s Knights to remove Sordes and his allies.”

Basrel raised an eyebrow. “I’d thought you’d be, I don’t know, happier. You’re getting stuff out of your prisoner.”

Heilon nodded, but his eyes were out the window. “Yes, but not what I _wish_ to get out of him. I want this _Tribunal,_ Agent. And I will not rest until I get it.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Master Heilon, I must officially protest against your use of –”

Heilon made rapid strides down the hall, tailed closely by Agent Basrel. He shook his head. “Your protest is noted, Agent. But I should not need to remind you that this is a war, not just against the Republic’s enemies but against _absolute evil._ I will go to great lengths to defend the Jedi Order and the Republic against the evil of the Dark Side, and I suggest you be prepared to do the same. If my methods are too extreme for you, then you should not have been assigned to work with Argent Legion.”

Basrel’s long-suffering sigh was drowned in her rapid footsteps as she tried to circle in front of Heilon. “I understand that, sir. But it is also my duty as a soldier of the Republic to –”

He brushed her gently aside with the Force as he neared the turbolift he was aiming for. “You do your duty well, Agent Basrel, and that is commendable. But I must do my duty also. You would do well to either assist me in it, or stay out of my way.”

The turbolift doors opened, and Heilon stepped inside. Basrel hesitated for a brief second before blowing out a heavy breath. She ducked inside just before the doors closed again, shaking her head. “If you end up killing your prisoner because of this, you are going to hear nothing but an entire _year’s_ worth of _‘I told you so’s_ from me.”

“Noted.”

The repulsorlift was silent save for the hum of its servos as it rose up into the security tower. As she watched her superior pull a pack of Flyntarian tabac sticks from a pocket in his robes, she leaned to the side to rest her head on the cool durasteel plating of the lift. “You know, you always put me in these positions, sir. Regardless of what I do, I’m always gonna be either complicit or insubordinate. I could get court-martialed either way, if anyone ever investigated Argent Legion.”

“You know we’re immune, Agent. I answer only to the rest of the Jedi Council. And I have their full support.” He gestured at her with his pack of Flyntarians.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighed as she took one of the offered sticks and pressed the autoigniter. “…It still kind of gives me ulcers.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Agent Basrel kicked her chair away from the desk and got to her feet when Heilon entered. “It didn’t work, did it?”

“On the contrary.” He waved her away from his seat and opened up his datafiles, eyes riveted on what he started rapidly typing.

“You don’t look happy.”

“Mm.” Heilon gestured briefly to his side, and Basrel inched closer so she could look over his shoulder. “With the assistance of our two Knights of Gallar, we got in. We didn’t get much, but it’s more than she’s ever willingly given us so far.”

Basrel frowned at the words flying across the screen. “…Is Cinaede still alive?”

Heilon shrugged in dismissal. “For now. I might be able to squeeze a little more out of her with the Knights still here, but once she runs dry I’ll just turn her over to them and they can dispose of her.”

Basrel flinched, but Heilon was too focused on writing out his report to notice. “What little we could pry out of her could very well be the edge of the proverbial asteroid field that we had no idea was lurking within the Sith Empire.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Her mind is like a fortress. We could only get into the smallest of lockboxes, even with the Knights of Gallar ripping away her mental defenses as fast as she could put them up. But what we managed to find is… incredible. As in, if we hadn’t had to go through such great lengths to get it, I would assume it was not credible at all. But it is.”

Basrel raised an eyebrow and one corner of her mouth quirked up. “Don’t leave me in suspense, sir.”

He gestured to his screen. “This ‘Tribunal’ we’ve had tiny hints of seems to actually be a ruling body of some sort of shadow agency in the Sith Empire. Calling themselves an ‘Imperium’. This could be much bigger than simply a rogue faction, Agent. This could very well be a calculated sundering of power within the ranks of the most influential and authoritative Sith Lords outside of the Dark Council itself. Tens of thousands of Sith and Imperials could be complicit. And our Cinaede is right in the thick of it.”

“That’s…” Basrel blinked, eyes wide. “That’s astounding. What else did you get?”

Heilon shook his head. “That’s it. That’s all we could get. Even with Argent Legion and the Knights of Gallar working together, that’s all we could tear from her mind.”

Again Basrel winced, and Heilon nodded. “I admit, it is disturbing. If the Sith are swelling into two separate entities, our problems may double as well.”

“That’s…” Basrel cleared her throat and hastily nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly what’s disturbing. So what happens now?”

“Hm.” Heilon clicked ‘send’ on his report and closed down his datafiles, tapping his chin in thought. “I honestly don’t think we’re going to get anything else out of Cinaede. We’ll keep her around for a few more days just in case, before turning her over to the Knights of Gallar for purging. It will be a relief, not to have to hear that annoying voice inviting me to _tea_ every day.”

Basrel shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m surprised she can still speak.”

“Hn.” Heilon’s near-perpetual frown returned, and he got up from his desk. “That aggravating Sith bounces back quicker than a blaster bolt off a Barabel’s scales. Despite screaming herself hoarse during the interrogation, when I left her cell she was lecturing both Knights of Gallar on proper introductory decorum.”

Both eyebrows shot up, and Basrel hid a smile behind a gloved hand. “That is… certainly resilient.”

Heilon scowled up at her. “Whatever. I will be glad to be done with her. Since you seem to find Cinaede so entertaining, Agent, _you_ can monitor her until Gallar can take her away. Take shifts with Agent Weyler, and give me a standard report every six hours. Dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” Agent Basrel steepled her fingers in the traditional Jedi farewell, turned on her heels and left the room.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Darth Cinaedus hummed quietly to himself against the wall of his cell, rendered immobile by the restraints and force fields that kept him strapped just above the floor. The throbbing headache the Knights of Gallar had left in their wake once they had retreated from his mind didn’t bother him, but he had to admit to himself that the lack of a decent percentage of humidity in the air was getting a little annoying. He might get _dandruff_ at this rate, and that simply wouldn’t do. Not that he could do anything about it, he noted to himself, but personal grooming would just have to keep taking the backburner while he was in the middle of this whole ‘being a prisoner of the Republic’ business. He sighed, and if he hadn’t been so tightly gagged he would have muttered something about the inconveniences of adhering to a Noble Cause.

The steady hum of the too-bright lights in Cinaedus’s cell flickered once, twice, and then went out completely, leaving the Sith in utter darkness and silence for several long minutes. He blinked into the sudden pitch black, a slow grin spreading over his gagged face. The faint wail of distant sirens could be heard even within the thick durasteel plating of the walls, and grew louder when the door to his cell cracked open.

The armored and helmeted form of a Republic CovOps soldier shoved the freshly unpowered door wider, grunting as the door stubbornly slid on tracks unused to being opened manually. Cinaedus raised one eyebrow at her attempts, but once she was free of the door she raised a finger to her helmet in a gesture of silence. Cin just made a significant glance down at the gag covering his mouth and shrugged as best he could in his restraints. There was a huff from inside the soldier’s helmet, and she took the few strides closer to Cin and yanked the gag from his mouth.

“Keep quiet and move fast,” the soldier hissed, barely even a whisper. “I trust that you can find your own way out once released.” She jerked the restraints keeping Cin pinned to the wall. “I just… need to figure out how to… get these off…”

“No need.” Cinaedus shifted and seemed to shrink, his wrists and hands narrowing even as his eyes widened and his face rounded. And just as easily, Darth Cinaede dropped to the ground, free of all restraints. She tipped a finger in mock salute. “Thanks, CovOps. Who the kriff are you again?”

“…Agent Basrel. I’ve been monitoring Heilon’s torture sessions with you while you’ve been here. Can’t condone it any longer. The Knights of Gallar are going to purge you and kill you if I don’t do anything. So this is me doing something. Get out of here.”

Cin tilted her head and smirked. “You got a lot of nerve, Agent Basrel. I like that.”

“Whatever. Leave.”

Cin gave her a short laugh. “Nah, see. Can’t have my unexpected little helper get into any trouble on account of little ol’ me. _Much_ easier for you to avoid a court-martial if you’re a hostage. So.” She flicked a hand forward and Basrel’s blaster was suddenly torn from her grip, flying through the air to land squarely in Cin’s hands. Cin lurched towards Basrel and grabbed her by her arm, her grip preternaturally strong. She shoved Basrel forward and towards the door. _“Now_ we can move.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Commander! Status report!”

The comm crackled as the auxiliary generators finally kicked on, and the soldier’s voice wavered as he tried to talk and run at the same time. “I don’t _know,_ Master Heilon! We need reinforcements! Power is failing all over the complex in random patches – we have breakouts, casualties, Sector Nine is completely down, Sector Five can’t even be contacted and half my people are going crazy, I can’t –”

Heilon’s grip was white-knuckled on his comm unit as he charged down the hall, trying to reach the Commander as fast as he could. “What do you mean, going crazy? Get control of your men!”

“It’s not –” The comm cut out for a second, “– can’t be sure what it is, but they’re grabbing their heads and screaming about death creeping in from the walls! They won’t –”

“Commander?”

“– have to reroute power from Sector Six. All units, converge on Sector Five. Blast it! The door’s open! Where’s Basrel? She should be right here –”

Heilon’s face grew stony. “Belay that, Commander. She’s either dead or the Sith has dragged her off. I need a full retreat from any non-Jedi combatants, immediately. We have a Sith assassin on the loose.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Heilon paced below the boarding ramp of the _Turbostorm_ -class gunship, his eyes glancing around the landing platform at the other ships readying for takeoff. He gestured to the Agent issuing final orders to the remaining teams beside him. “The other units have been scrambled for intercept?”

Agent Weyler gave him a curt nod once they dismissed the last of the teams. “Although _what_ they’re trying to intercept is still up in the air. Your Sith assassin seems to have just vanished into Coruscanti air.”

“Along with my right-hand Agent.”

“It appears so, sir.” Weyler turned and motioned for Heilon to board the gunship. “Ready for takeoff. Where is our objective?”

Heilon made his way to the cockpit and indicated the copilot’s seat for Weyler. “The Force will guide us, Agent. Darth Cinaede will not evade me for long.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“ _Blast_ it!”

Weyler kept one eye on Heilon from the copilot’s seat, and the other on the just-vanished point of light that was the only indication that a starship had been there mere seconds ago. They balled their fists in anger and shook their head. “We get so _close,_ Master Heilon, but… _every_ time –”

Heilon sighed and slumped back into his chair. “This is the fourth planet we’ve tracked Cinaede to. I’m not giving up, Agent Weyler.”

“Neither am I, sir. I just – wait. Encrypted signal coming in from the planet’s surface.”

Heilon shot upright. “Put it through.”

The holotransmitter crackled to life and the luminescent blue outline of a hologram materialized, revealing a very tired Agent Basrel. “– repeat, security code 465-Osk-762. Come in, Republic gunship.”

“I hear you, Agent.” Heilon almost allowed himself a smile. “It is a relief to see your face.”

“Oh thank the stars, it’s Master Heilon.” Basrel’s eyes lit up as she recognized his transmission. “Pardon the lack of protocol, but can you get me the kriff out of here? I have had one _hell_ of a week.”

“Acknowledged, Agent Basrel. See you soon.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“And then she just… drop kicked me head-first out the door a few meters above the surface and took off. I have never been so happy to eat dirt in my _life.”_

Heilon nodded, eyes on the navicomputer as he waited for it to calculate all probable trajectories from Cinaede’s hyperspace signature. “Lucky for us that she was in such a hurry, she didn’t have as much time to cover her tracks as she had before.” He glanced up to eyeball Basrel’s face. “I am relieved, and perplexed, that she didn’t harm you.”

Basrel grunted and she leaned back in the rear seat to kick her feet up beside the console, nursing the tabac stick Heilon had given her as soon as she had been brought on board. “Me too, to be honest. In all my years of service I’ve never been a hostage before. Much less to a _Sith._ When she grabbed me I thought I was dead. I… I should have fought back harder.”

Heilon waved her words away, along with the blue-green smoke of his own stick. “I cannot expect a mere soldier to fight alone against the most powerful forces of evil in this galaxy and _win,_ Agent Basrel. You survived, that is what counts.”

The navicomputer pinged in earnest, and Weyler jumped to the controls. “Sir, I think we have a trajectory. Tracking coordinates and going into hyperspace now.”

The warped and marbled lines of hyperspace morphed into their view even as they spoke, and Heilon leaned in with interest at the navicomputer’s map. “…Cinaede has clearly been trying to get back to Sith-held space. Look at the way our jumps have taken us.”

“Which means that she’s gonna get there real quick. Looks like this trajectory would take her to… this gas giant.” Basrel’s finger hovered inside the hologram of the galaxy, pointing to a remote system just outside the perimeter of known Sith space.

Weyler leaned in. “This is… weird. Am I the only one that’s seeing this? She could have jumped straight to the Kalamith Sector from here with no rerouting needed. Squarely in Sith Empire territory, if only just. Why’d she go clear out of her way? That gas giant is in a barely-populated sector. Not even within Sith borders, just on the outskirts.”

Heilon and Basrel could only shake their heads, and Basrel inclined her head to the warped lines of hyperspace in the viewport ahead of them. “I suppose in two hours, we’ll find out.”

Heilon patted the back of Weyler’s chair. “I want backup. Signal Argent Legion on an encrypted channel, for all the good it will do. I want a squadron of starfighters to meet us at this gas giant –”

“Dg’resro.”

“–Dg’resro, in two hours. Have them fully prepared to engage in a firefight. That system is just beyond Sith space’s known perimeter, which means as far as I’m concerned Cinaede is still fair game. She’s not getting away this time.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Basrel! Two marks at three-five!”

“On it, sir!” She swiveled the turret and fired a swift volley of shots at the pair of ships that just streaked over her field of vision. She pressed her communicator closer to her ear. “Got one, the other’s going for the surface. Blast it, where are the rest of our fighters?”

Heilon’s voice filtered in over the comm, gravelly and annoyed. “Engaging the rest of _their_ fighters. I thought this system wasn’t supposed to _have_ a Sith presence.”

Basrel stuck out her lower lip to blow a stray tuft of fur out of her eyes. “Well, it does now.”

“We’re improvising, then. Wait – did you see that?”

Basrel squinted out of the windows of her turret, scrutinizing the stars before glancing down at her scanning scope. “I see about half a dozen enemy fighters left, engaging our own, but –”

“No, not that. One mark at Nine-oh. It’s going down. Must be tech-cloaked, I only have visual.”

“Ohhhh-kay.” She raised an eyebrow at her comm, but continued to scan the planet’s horizon. “Wait. Yeah, I see it – I see it! Visual confirmation – that’s the ship Cinaede commandeered, alright. Wait, you’re right it’s been hit! Crashing planetside – no, wait. It looks like it’s steering for that little terrestrial moon I’ve got a visual on. Can you get a track on it, Weyler?”

“Negative. It’s not on the scopes. Neither is that moon.”

Heilon’s voice cut in through the comm. “Weyler, you and Basrel get to the escort fighter in the back. Launch and return to the Argent’s command ship out there. I’m taking over from here.”

Basrel scowled at her comm from inside the turret. “All due respect sir, but what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m doing exactly what I just said, Agent. This gunship is fully equipped to intercept and contain a Sith Lord, and I intend on finding Cinaede. The Force will guide me, but I will not risk the lives of two of my best agents in the process. Get to the escort ship.”

“Yes, sir.” She disengaged her comm and slapped the console in frustration, but rolled her eyes as she climbed down from the turret to meet Weyler on the way to the rear cargo bay. “I swear he’s getting a little obsessed.”

Weyler merely shrugged. “Jedi Master’s prerogative, I guess. He can take care of himself. Let’s do this.”

“Righto.”


	2. Mordeo.

The atmosphere of the moon was thick with clouds, and the moon’s magnetic field was interfering with any scans Heilon attempted to run on the surface below. He took a slow breath and reached out with the Force, turning the ship to follow his intuition. As he finally broke through the cloud cover, he could see a jagged landscape stretching out below him – glassy obsidian peaks and ridges running parallel to deep rifts in the ground, with brilliant emerald greens of tangled and lush vegetation scattered in between. And here and there, along the edge of a line of trees that skirted the border of a particularly rugged ridge, were buildings along a narrow road. The distinctive spires of receiving towers were dotted among them, their only purpose to intercept passing signals and communications.

Heilon’s eyes narrowed. “The Sith Empire _does_ have a presence here, after all. A listening post, even.” His gaze was drawn to the very end of the road, where a copious amount of smoke was rising from a burning facility, torn open by the remains of a downed Sith starfighter.

He frowned. _“That_ one is new. Not Cinaede’s vessel, at any rate. Must be another casualty from the dogfight.”

Heilon brought his ship around, and managed to land it in a vacant lot half a click away from the facility. It didn’t take him long to disembark and approach the shelled-out remains of the building. The starfighter itself was a charred husk of twisted metal, the only sign of its occupant a single blackened hand hanging limply out the broken cockpit window. Heilon grunted and moved on, his curiosity piqued by the facility the fighter had plowed into. He jumped past the Sith fighter and made his way through the rubble, but his pace slowed as he climbed over the first crumbling wall.

It had to have been a moon-side monitoring station of some sort. Geothermal, if what he could make out of the remnants of signage were correct. He cautiously picked his way through the debris, his gaze drawn to the blinking of lights on a machine. Some of the equipment was still functional, and Heilon’s eyes grew wide at the dials and alarms that all signaled they were in the red. “What is… going on here? I have a bad feeling about this…”

The distinctive sound of hinges breaking made him jump, and he drew his lightsaber from his side as he approached what must have been a heavy blast door to an emergency shelter. It shuddered even as he studied it, and Heilon ducked behind the remains of a pillar to await the emergence of whatever lay behind the door. But whoever was behind there was either injured or feeble, for it was only with great effort that the door finally budged. A small and shaky hand stretched out from between the broken hinges, followed shortly by a narrow shoulder and the wormy head tendrils of a Thradian. The skinny man attempted to extricate himself from the broken door and the rubble around it, but only succeeded with great difficulty and a lot of swearing. He finally snarled in frustration and thrust his hands at the rubble he kept stumbling over, and with a blast of Dark Side energy he was free. He swore once more before turning his glossy black eyes to the remaining monitors, and those eyes grew wide at the alarms flashing there. “…Shit.”

The Thradian Sith had his back to where Heilon was hiding now, and now that he had a clear view of the Sith Heilon stepped out from behind the crumbled pillar and ignited his lightsaber.

The tell-tale _snap-hiss_ of his blade being drawn made the Thradian jump, and he twisted around to stare at Heilon with his mouth agape. “Who the – _kriffing hell_ , a Jedi!”

The long, twisted hilt of a polesaber appeared in the Thradian’s hands, but instead of engaging Heilon he turned and sprang over the remains of equipment. He cleared the rubble within seconds and broke out into a run when he hit the dirt of the road.

Heilon pursued. Using the Force to augment his speed, he charged after the Sith with every ounce of strength he could muster. Within moments he had gained on his target, by the Sith had reached a bend in the road that skirted the base of a steep overhang beside the jagged ridge. Without a second of hesitation, the Sith leaped up into the rocks, scrambling with practiced agility up the nearly-vertical cliff.

Heilon slowed as he approached the base of the ridge, knowing that even with the Force at his side, his own agility would never allow the bulk of his frame to match the dexterity of the little Thradian. He studied his target’s rapid ascent, calculating the shift of his muscles and the direction of his jumps. Lightsaber still ignited, he took a slow breath to center himself in the Force. He closed his eyes and zeroed in on the Thradian’s churning aura in the Dark Side, and suddenly threw his blade in a wide arc.

He hit his mark. With a strangled cry the Sith tumbled back down the cliffside, his legs suddenly removed from his body at his calves. He landed in a crumpled heap close to where Heilon stood waiting. Heilon’s lightsaber continued on its arc, and with a tug from the Force it returned to his outstretched hand. He strode with a purpose to where the Sith lay gasping and groaning in the dirt, still making a valiant struggle to rise.

Heilon kicked the Sith in his side and swept his blade up to the Sith’s throat, mere centimeters from his skin. He froze, his shiny black eyes like saucers as his gaze flicked between Heilon’s face and his blade. Fear sloughed off of him in waves, and the damp, clammy aura surrounding the Sith in the Force made Heilon wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Don’t move, Sith. Tell me everything you know about the Sith Lord Darth Cinaede, also known as Darth Cinaedus, and why they fled to this system.”

The Thradian only snarled up at him, his aura in the Force raw and raging.

Heilon’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t have time for this. _Tell me!_ Is Cinaede trying to return to the Sith Tribunal? Is it headquartered on this moon? _Answer!”_

The Sith’s eyes grew even wider at the mention of the Tribunal, and he finally spoke. “How in the nine Corellian _hells_ do _you_ know about the –”

But a deep rumble coming from somewhere far beneath their feet cut off his words, and a klaxon suddenly wailed from the ruined monitoring station behind them. The Thradian looked even more panicked, and Heilon cursed to himself as the rumbling shook the ground. He lurched down to grab the Sith by his arm, and dragged him behind as he tried to retreat back to his ship.

But the Sith wasn’t having it. He twisted and jerked in Heilon’s grip, fighting him every centimeter of the way despite the loss of his feet. “Let me _go,_ Jedi! This whole _ridge_ is volcanic, and it’s about to erupt right in our faces! It’ll kill us _both_ if we –”

“Then that should be reason enough for you to stop fighting me.”

The cold, clammy presence of the Thradian in the Dark Side of the Force oozed with pain and fear all around Heilon as he tried to drag him along, making him feel as though the Sith in his grip was as slick and slippery as a Nilgarian worm. Even though Heilon knew it was just an impression left through the Force, it still made him curl his lip in revulsion. But the Sith persisted in writhing in his grip, and Heilon finally turned and decked him on the side of his head. The blow instantly knocked the Sith out, and with a grunt of annoyance Heilon foisted him over his shoulder and sprinted back to his ship.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

For the fourth time, Heilon checked the monitor over the force field designed to hold Force-sensitive prisoners and sighed. Four hours since leaving the surface of the moon, and the Sith hadn’t stirred once. He knew he’d hit him hard when he’d cuffed him upside the head, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t caused _permanent_ damage. He was getting tired of waiting for his prisoner to come to, but patience was a Jedi virtue and all trace of Cinaede had already vanished from the system anyway. But in the meantime… He eyeballed his prisoner, ensuring everything was as secure as it could possibly be.

The skinny Thradian’s wrists were strapped tightly down to the bench within the force field, as were his knees. Heilon had managed to fasten his restraints in such a way that what remained of the Sith’s legs below his knees was rendered immobile and immersed in a small vat of kolto. Not that it would matter too much – it probably wouldn’t take long to rip Cinaede’s location from the Sith once he was conscious, and then Heilon could dispose of him quickly and get back to his pursuit.

A frown and a groan finally signaled that the Sith was regaining consciousness. Heilon studied him as he shifted under his restraints as he took a slow, shuddering breath and opened his eyes. He jerked upright, but the straps forced him back down and his head thunked sharply against the bench. He squawked at the pain, but continued to thrash and struggle until Heilon reached a hand out to grip one arm.

Instantly the Sith froze, and he tilted his head up to fix his wide eyes on his captor. Heilon could feel the rage churning just below the Sith’s skin, and his clammy aura made him release his grip and wipe his hand absently on his sleeve. “Good. You are awake. Now that you are conscious, you will tell me everything you know about the Sith Tribunal and Darth Cinaede’s relationship to them.”

Heilon only got a sneer in return. “I have _no_ idea who the kriffing hell Cinaede is, _Jedi,_ and if you think I’m just going to belly-up and give you information on the Tribunal, your assumptions are pathetic.”

“But you do know of them. Interesting.” Heilon tilted his head down at the Sith and stretched out with the Force, pressing against his mind. “I find it doubtful that you do not know of Cinaede. They came to the moon we are orbiting for a reason, and you were the only living being I or my team could find on that moon. Tell me where they are.”

The sneer turned into a snarl, and Heilon could feel the Sith push back against him in the Force. “I don’t know them, but even if I _did,_ you wouldn’t get jack _shit_ out of me. I won’t betray my brethren to a Jedi, whether I know them or not.”

“Really.” Heilon’s eyebrows shot up. “The Sith and all others who fall to the Dark Side are self-serving and egomaniacal, and only look out for themselves. If the tables were turned, I am certain not a single other Sith would attempt to protect you the same way. It is in your best interests to divulge what you know, for your own sake.”

The Sith practically spat at him. “Bullshit Jedi propaganda. You know _nothing._ I’m not talking.”

“Mm. We’ll see.” Heilon slipped his eyes shut and reached out with full Force into the Sith’s mind. With a tremendous surge of focused power, he punched a hole in the Thradian’s outer mental defenses and pressed into his most recent memories. Rooting around for anything involving Cinaede’s names, he tore through mental barrier after barrier that the Sith kept throwing at him, but came up empty. He turned his focus on anything having to do with the name of the Tribunal, but the Sith fought him tooth and nail every step of the way in the Force. He was only dimly aware of the raw screaming from the Sith’s throat, and he broke off his connection harshly in initial defeat. The last barriers that the Sith pulled up had been drawn from deep recesses in the Dark Side, and when Heilon brushed against them they scalded and froze, making his hair stand on end. The only thing he had managed to tear away from the Sith was his name, and that he had previously had some dealing with this Sith Tribunal.

“So. Your name is ‘Darth’ Mordeo.” Heilon frowned down at the Sith, watching him gasp and writhe under his restraints. “You are certainly not that impressive for a Darth. You didn’t even try to fight me on the moon. You simply fled. Although I suppose I should not have expected much – all Sith are cowards at heart.”

Mordeo actually did spit at him that time.

Heilon wiped a sleeve across his chin and scowled, his hand coming up with intent to strike his captive across the face. But as Mordeo flinched against the anticipated blow, Heilon shrugged instead. “Jedi do not lash out in anger. Sith wouldn’t be worth the effort even if we did.” He stood and left the room.

The door slid shut behind him, and he shook his head as he took the few strides to the side to sit at a chair next to a computer console and monitor. His hands flew across the keys, and in half a moment he picked up the comm beside him. “Agent Basrel?”

“Here sir. Are you still in orbit around the moon?”

Heilon nodded, though she couldn’t see him. “I am. And here is where I intend to stay until I can get something useful out of my new prisoner. You and Agent Weyler will continue your search along any possible trajectories Cinaede may have taken away from this system. I will assign two members of Argent Legion to take the lead, and you will pair off and split up. Contact me at the first sign of Cinaede, or if you sniff out a trail on the Tribunal.”

The briefest of pauses before Basrel’s voice returned. “Yes sir.”

“Heilon out.” He cut off the comm and rested his elbow on the console, his fingers stroking his beard in thought. He idly flipped on a switch and turned his gaze to the monitors beside him, and with a flash of colour they winked on. From here he could observe his prisoner without having to be in the immediate vicinity of that noxious Dark Side aura.

His eyes widened a fraction, and he leaned in with surprise to study the monitor. Was the Sith… crying? Surely he must be mistaken. He rose from his chair and swiped open the door once again.

As soon as he entered the room Mordeo recoiled as far back as his restraints would allow, which didn’t amount to much. He was trying in vain to blink them back, but sure enough there were tears in his eyes. For a brief moment Heilon couldn’t help but be reminded of a scared kid, lost and far away from home. But the sudden snarl on Mordeo’s face and the damp chill of his signature in the Force made the similarity vanish just as quickly as it had appeared, and without a word Heilon slammed the door shut once again.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Days passed. Heilon had relocated his ship to the quiet and remote world of Diervall IV, just inside the borders of Republic space and absent of any distractions. He had repeated a routine of study, meditation, observation, and interrogation throughout the last four days, hoping to wear down his Sith captive.

It was not going as smoothly as he had hoped. Despite the Sith’s obvious lack of experience dealing with situations involving his sworn enemy, he had not once willingly divulged anything to Heilon. Which was already frustrating enough, as someone who clearly had not had any training in combat or even general hostile situations shouldn’t by any rights have such resilience to such powerful mind probing. This Mordeo wasn’t even at his best. He wasn’t strong enough either physically or in the Force to be much of a challenge for a Jedi Master, much less one on the Jedi Council. He was clearly terrified, exhausted, and in constant pain even with the kolto ensuring his severed limbs wouldn’t bleed out or develop an infection. Yet still he stubbornly refused to knowingly disclose anything on Cinaede or the Tribunal.

What Heilon _had_ managed to tear from Mordeo’s mind were a few bits and pieces that supposedly had something to do with the Tribunal. But they made no sense to him. Sith that united together under a mutual cause, bound to each other with loyalty, respect, and honor? Preposterous. It fit nothing of what Heilon already knew the Sith to be, so he could only conclude that it was intended as some sort of distraction.

Heilon sighed and stubbed out his Flyntarian tabac stick before swiping open the door that led to his interrogation room. As per usual, Mordeo tensed and pushed as far away from Heilon as his restraints could allow, and as per usual Heilon slid his chair up beside the Sith and reached out with the Force, methodically tearing away the mental barriers his prisoner still insisted on throwing at him.

He _had_ to be getting close to… _something._ Mordeo was brittle beneath the pressure of the Force, the ends of his nerves and his tolerance so frayed and fragile that Heilon could practically feel the cracks forming within him through the Force. And while the torture was mental, if he opened his eyes to study the Sith while he was breaking into his mind he could see Mordeo’s mouth agape in a grimace of pain, and he could hear his ragged breathing and occasional whimper.

But Heilon’s comm pinged at his side before he could delve too deeply into his interrogation session, and he sighed as he pulled the communicator from his belt. “Heilon here. Agent Basrel?”

“Yes, sir. I know that your orders were to leave you in comm silence until you contacted us yourself, but there’s been a situation on the Balmorran front.”

Heilon eyed his Sith captive as he tapped his chin in contemplation. “There is always a situation on the Balmorran front, Agent. Please tell me that Knight Gall hasn’t gotten the entirety of Base 11A killed.”

Agent Basrel’s brief pause made Heilon tense, and her answer didn’t help much. “…No. Not yet, at any rate. This is about the factory town in Jacent Valley.”

Heilon’s face grew stony. “What about it, Agent? We had three Jedi stationed there, if memory recalls. My old associate Eylik Mos was still in command when I was last there.”

“…Yes, sir. But they… sir… Eylik is gone.”

All of Heilon’s motion in the Force stilled, and he stared down at the comm gripped tightly in his hand. “…Tell me what happened, Agent.”

“It was the Empire, sir. From what our intel could gather, a team of Sith ambushed Mos and his people. They were captured. Interrogated, tortured, and killed. And the information the Sith gathered from them was used to completely obliterate the entire factory town’s line of defense. The Empire… they overran Jacent Valley. No one in the town was left alive.”

Heilon continued to stare down at his comm. “Thank you for informing me, Agent.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I know you and Eylik were close, so I thought you should know. If you –”

“Heilon out.” He cut off the transmission with a swift flick of his thumb, and carefully set the comm back into his belt. When he turned his gaze back to his Sith prisoner, the Force blazed so brightly around him that Mordeo reflexively squeezed his eyes shut against the glare. Heilon reached a hand out and grasped Mordeo tightly just beneath his jaw. “This is what your Empire revels in doing, Sith. They used our Knights against us, they tortured them and used their knowledge so they could wipe out an _entire valley,_ just to satisfy their own thirst for blood. _This_ is what the Sith do. This is what _you_ do. You take _joy_ in snuffing out the lives of our brightest and most honorable Jedi Knights. They are the light and the hope of the galaxy, and _you –”_ he squeezed tighter, leaning in close and practically smothering the little Sith with the blinding pressure of his presence in the Force, “You are vile _abominations,_ you are _blights_ on the stars and the _disease_ of the planets,” he shoved down both physically and in the Force, punching through and piercing a ragged hole in Mordeo’s mental defenses. “You taint the Force with your wretched, _loathsome_ existence, and I will not have a spineless _worm_ of a Sith like _you_ keep me from discovering every bit of knowledge I can find that will help me _wipe you and your kind from the face of the galaxy.”_

The tattered shreds of Mordeo’s mental defenses shriveled up completely in the face of Heilon’s bright righteous anger, and with a sudden jolt Heilon finally realized he wasn’t being resisted any longer. He released his tight grip on Mordeo’s throat, and blinked down at the Sith trembling on the bench beside him.

Mordeo wouldn’t look at him. His muscles were limp and his breathing shallow, but he was still awake – if only just. Heilon lightly tapped him on his arm and cautiously probed around the edges of his semiconsciousness, but the Sith’s mind was a complete blank. It was as if he had gone into shock and had just simply… shut down, for lack of a better term. Heilon received nothing from him through the Force, save for a mirror-view of his own face and voice.

Heilon frowned, his ire rekindling again for a moment. “If you intend to mock me by _mimicry_ – wait.” He paused for a moment, observing the impressions he was receiving from Mordeo. He could see – or rather, feel – a twisted and distorted reflection of his face and aura in the Force, almost in monstrous caricature. But it was still merely an echo of his own power.

“…I see. It’s reflexive.” He waved a hand in front of Mordeo’s face, but received no response. “You probably don’t even know you’re doing it. Am I just… seeing what you are seeing?”

The Sith made no reply. He was so quiet that Heilon even had to check his pulse and feel his chest to ensure he was still breathing. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “Completely unresponsive. I doubt there is any way I can use _this_ to my advantage.”

He mentally walked himself back through the last few minutes in an effort to gain a better handle on what had just happened, but his thoughts strayed to Balmorra and the loss of his allies there. Once he touched on the thought of his old associate being captured, he felt the same feeling of an echoing reflection coming from Mordeo, only this time he saw the Sith’s face overlaid with that of his old associate. With a start he realized he was still closely linked to the Sith in the Force and he immediately wrenched his mind away, breaking free of their connection. It made the Sith’s whole body flinch before lying limp once more, and Heilon growled under his breath at his incaution. But his gaze lingered on the Sith’s face. “…One wonders why I also receive an echo when thinking about Eylik.”

Mordeo offered up no suggestions. Heilon leaned in adjust the Sith’s head towards him so that he could better notice if or when he came back into full consciousness, and when he touched his skin the weird clammy slickness of the Sith’s aura in the Force became apparent once again. Heilon wrinkled his nose in disgust, and once again he felt a flash of reflection coming from the Sith – his own face, mutated into a luminous distorted behemoth. He flinched away from Mordeo and silently stared at him.

“…Reflections that echo what is immediately apparent.” His frown deepened. “Which would mean that… He sees himself in Eylik? Ludicrous.”

But despite his initial reaction, he could not help but dwell on the thought. What if that was indeed what such echoes signified? It would mean that Mordeo thought of Heilon as some sort of monster, and of himself as some sort of martyr for a cause, as Eylik certainly was. “…And that Eylik’s torture and death is similar to what he is… going through.”

Heilon stood up abruptly. “This is nonsense.” He turned and strode out of the room, pulling a tabac stick from its pack as he closed the door behind him.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

But the thought wouldn’t leave him alone. The idea that what he was doing to this Sith was in some way similar to the torture that the Empire used on the Jedi at Balmorra was enough to make him feel uncomfortably concerned. Not for the Sith’s sake – after all, there was nothing truly left in there but a core of evil wrapped in the shell of something that might have once been a sentient being – but for the ethical dilemma it might cause the Republic, were it to become a thing that became more widely known. He had no desire to make things awkward for the Republic’s military and CovOps, much less for Argent Legion and the Jedi Order.

And yet… the image of himself being reflected as a monstrous figure of blinding evil was… troubling. He was the patron of Argent Legion, a Master on the Jedi Council, and clearly beyond such reproach. But even if its source was within the disgusting mind of Sith filth, he didn’t like the implications of being perceived as something even remotely connected with the idea of evil. Perhaps he should try… alternative methods of investigation and interrogation.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

It had been well over twelve hours since Heilon had broken his Sith captive, and now he sat beside him, waiting for the Sith to fully regain consciousness.

He had given him sedatives while he had worked, just in case he came to before he was ready for him. In the meantime he had used healing techniques in the Force to seal up the wounds on Mordeo’s severed legs, and had reworked his bonds so that now he was still restrained, but he could sit up or lie down of his own volition. He had also placed a thick blanket underneath the Sith, despite his own doubts at the capabilities of someone so deeply immersed in the Dark Side to feel much in the way of true comfort. He pulled a pack from the pocket in his robes and tapped another tabac stick out of it, but forgot to press the autoigniter when he felt a flicker in the Force.

The Sith finally stirred. His presence in the Force grew humid and foggy before coalescing tightly around him into that strange clammy slickness that Heilon found so revolting. His big black eyes slowly cracked open and he drew one hand to his sickly yellow forehead with a whimper.

Seeing that his Sith captive was awake and appeared functional, Heilon nodded to himself and lit the autoigniter. His motion startled Mordeo, and he jerked away to press himself back against the wall his bench butted up next to. “Get – get away from me!”

Heilon merely raised an eyebrow and directed a puff of smoke at the ceiling. “I am hardly likely to follow your orders, Sith.”

Mordeo just gaped up at him, his seething hatred and fear oozing out of him like slime on a Hutt’s back. Heilon almost felt like gagging. Instead, he just stared Mordeo down, watching the shift and pull of his aura in the Force. Heilon’s eyes on him clearly made him nervous, but Mordeo could do nothing but squirm where he sat.

“Are you firing on all thrusters again?”

Mordeo glanced around the room, clearly distrustful of Heilon’s new approach. “I’m… cognizant. If that’s what you’re asking.”

Heilon nodded and blew out another breath of smoke before extinguishing the last of his stick on the arm of his chair. “…Are you some sort of Sith geologist, is that why you were at a geothermal station?”

“W-what?”

“It was a geothermal station, wasn’t it?”

Cautiously, Mordeo nodded. “It was…?”

“So is that what you are?”

Another nod.

“Interesting. Then you worked in conjunction with the listening post there. To what purpose?”

Clearly confused about the sudden change from Heilon’s usual direction of conversation, Mordeo shrugged, wincing as he did so. “It… was an ideal location. The strong magnetic fields of the moon made it difficult to detect on most scanning equipment.”

“I hardly think that having a strong magnetic field is grounds for having a dedicated geothermal station built into a listening post.”

Mordeo scoffed. “What would _you_ know about geothermal monitoring?”

“Enlighten me.” Heilon leaned in and narrowed his eyes. “It is either talk about this, or I return my focus to its original target. Your choice.”

Mordeo flinched at Heilon being so close, but nodded in defeat even as his anger surged in the Force. “…It’s the moon’s proximity to the gas giant Dg’resro that created both the magnetic field and the wildly fluctuating tidal effects from that planet’s gravitational field. The tidal effects cause the mantle of the moon to shift and stretch every revolution, which in turn breaks up the crust, causing regular, if intermittent, eruptions.”

“Strange choice, still remaining on the ground.” Heilon frowned. “Why not put the listening post on a satellite station orbiting the moon?”

“Because the closer you are to the ground surface, the more magnetic field you have above you to obscure you from scans.”

“Mm.” Heilon tapped his chin in thought. “So you were just a random geologist monitoring the ground. How does a geologist know about the Tribunal, then?”

Mordeo clammed up and drew his knees to his chest, staring at the floor.

Heilon sighed. This ‘alternative approach’ was proving to be almost more awkward than it was worth. “Alright… so why does the Sith Empire need _Darths_ as simple geologists?”

Mordeo’s eyes suddenly narrowed and he practically spat on the floor. “They _don’t.”_

“Really.” Heilon’s eyebrows shot up at the abrupt spike in hostility. “Then why were you there?”

Mordeo sighed with such unexpected weariness it almost made Heilon feel exhausted himself. “Because I _like_ geology. It’s my passion, okay? The _Empire_ had nothing to _do_ with it.”

It was Heilon’s turn to scoff. “Surely they have better places to send their Sith Lords.”

But the vitriol was practically dripping off of Mordeo now. “I’m not _their_ Sith Lord,” he snapped, “I’m _my own_ Sith Lord. I answer to _no one_ in the doshed _Empire,_ they can shove it up their kriffing exhaust ports for all I care. I was on that moon because I was _helping,_ gods be damned, because if they didn’t have qualified technicians then the entire _post_ would have been a deathtrap!”

Heilon blinked. “Why do you care about a listening post if you clearly don’t care about the Sith Empire?”

Mordeo’s mouth clapped shut, and he looked away to the opposite wall. But Heilon had already pinged on his recalcitrance, and he leaned back and stroked his beard in thought. “Well then. Perhaps it is because it wasn’t the Sith Empire’s listening post after all. And, come to think of it, that post’s position isn’t exactly key for the Empire to be monitoring the _Republic,_ now is it? To a certain extent perhaps, of course, but it _is_ situated towards the very edge of some of the Sith Empires favourite military intelligence routes, just before they enter known Sith space.”

But Mordeo remained tight-lipped. He drew his knees up closer to his chest and rested his chin behind them, seeming to shrink down into the bench.

Heilon pressed on. “Perhaps the listening post belongs separately to this Tribunal, instead?” He tilted his head down in an attempt to catch Mordeo’s eye. “Is the Tribunal opposed to the Empire? It certainly appears that way, from what little I could get from Cinaede. They were only too happy to give me information that was detrimental to the Empire, but were just as recalcitrant as you when it comes to the Tribunal.” He leaned forward, curiosity tempting him to poke around once again in the Sith’s mind.

Mordeo tried in vain to press himself back into the corner as far away from the Jedi as he could, clearly dreading and anticipating another of Heilon’s invasions. But Heilon paused, mulling over what Mordeo might have just unintentionally revealed. “So this Tribunal _is_ opposed to the Empire. You haven’t denied it. And you’re clearly involved with them in _some_ way, as was Cinaede.” He leaned back once again, tapping a finger to his chin. “What little I have gleaned from either of you informs me that it is large and somewhat well-organized, but obviously secretive. And logically so – if they are actively opposing the Sith Empire they would _have_ to be. So tell me this. What is it about the Empire that they oppose?”

Mordeo hesitated, eyeing Heilon warily from behind his knees.

“Such a thing is unlikely to reveal any damning or sensitive information, Sith.” He waved a hand. _“There is no ignorance, there is only knowledge._ So alleviate my lack of knowledge on this subject, at no risk to whatever it is you think you’re protecting.”

The suspicion never left Mordeo’s eyes, but slowly he began to talk. “…The Tribunal is opposed to the toxic and self-destructive nature of the Sith Empire. It is opposed to the narrow band of Sith views that the Empire has endorsed at the expense of a huge spectrum of culture and tradition that is just as validly Sith and even richer in heritage and legacy.”

It took almost everything Heilon had not to sneer at that, but he gestured to the air. “Go on.”

Mordeo had noticed his hidden condescension, but he sighed and soldiered on. “The Tribunal is against the Empire’s rigid definition of what the Sith Code means and what it encapsulates, it is opposed to the Empire’s limited embrace of only a tiny fraction of the Force and excluding or dismissing the rest because they cannot cram it into their suffocating grip.” Mordeo clenched his fist as he spoke, his frustration and fury at the Empire burgeoning with the Dark Side of the Force. _“Strength_ is good, _power_ is good, _freedom_ is good, but all of those things at the expense of _so many others_ cannot be sustained on a galactic level, and can only end in destruction or collapse. And the Tribunal doesn’t believe that the Sith Empire should take down half the kriffing _galaxy_ along with them in their downward spiral into doing _exactly that.”_

Heilon scoffed. “I highly doubt that _any_ Sith would care whether their power was at the expense of others.”

Mordeo snarled, baring his teeth up at Heilon. “And what have _you_ seen of the Sith? The _Empire._ The _Dark Council._ The Emperor and all his vicious, petty lackeys, quarreling over table scraps and the refuse of scavengers, because they can’t take _one second_ to pull their heads out of their own collective arses and see that there is so much more to the galaxy, and the Force, and _life,_ than their short-sighted, ham-fisted, childish grabbing for anything that crosses within reach of their sticky bloodstained fingers.”

Heilon’s eyes had grown wide at Mordeo’s venomous words for his own people, and he opened his mouth only to close it again, momentarily speechless.

But Mordeo took the silence and pressed on. “But what would _you_ know about appreciating life? You’re a _Jedi._ And you’re not only Jedi, but you’re _Jedi Council._ I know who you are, Burdock Heilon. You’re the patron of Argent Legion. The most _blindingly_ bright of the Jedi, the most monstrous and vicious of your kind. So fixated on the discovering the existence of evil in the galaxy that you became it yourself.” The hatred in his words made them come out almost as a hiss. “There can be only one ‘ultimate evil’, so if you and Argent Legion want to duke it out with the Dark Council and the Emperor to compete for who gets _that_ title, you are welcome to it. But if you want to extend that little power play between the Dark Council and the Jedi Council to engulf the galaxy in your game of who controls the playground sandbox, you can leave the Tribunal _out_ of it.”

Heilon’s aura in the Force flared with the burning white light of indignation, and Mordeo flinched away from him. But Heilon paused, a thoughtful look crossing over his face. “…Are you saying that the Tribunal does not wish war, then?”

“ _No.”_

He frowned. “Then why not _battle_ the Empire?”

Mordeo gaped in dumbfounded incredulity. “Are you kriffing _stupid?_ If we went into open war with the Empire, they very _second_ the Empire was vanquished, the Republic and the Jedi would focus all of their attentions on the Tribunal and the Imperium instead!” He snorted in derision. “You can’t deny that. You’re Argent Legion, after all. You’re _Jedi Council._ There is no _way_ you would let the Republic attempt to enter into a non-aggression pact with _any_ Sith, even if those Sith truly _did_ desire to end the war.”

Heilon shrugged. “A peace-loving Sith is an oxymoron.”

“I didn’t say the Sith Tribunal desired peace,” Mordeo snapped, “I said they desire to end the war. There’s a difference. _You_ know and _I_ know that there will _never_ be true peace. Even if the Sith and the Jedi united as one, there would always be another conflict, always be some corner of the galaxy where another skirmish, or vendetta, or blood feud, or civil unrest is brewing. That cannot be avoided. But this?” He waved his shackled hands at nothing and everything in particular. “This Galactic War between the Jedi’s Republic and the Sith’s Empire? This can _end._ But not with the Emperor and the Dark Council driving the Sith into their Empire, feeding our natural aggression into galactic warfare. And it can’t end with Jedi like Argent Legion or the Knights of Gallar whipping the Republic forces into self-righteous fury, either. One feeds off the other.” He slumped back against the wall, exhausted from his own speech. “Both sides are driving the galaxy mad and tearing it apart.”

But Heilon had heard enough. He stood up and sneered down at the little Sith. “That ‘self-righteous fury’ is still _righteous,_ and we are in the _right._ We will give no quarter to anyone or anything that deviates away from what we stand for.”

But Mordeo had heard enough as well. “Oh yes, I forget. ‘Right’, as in, dismembering and kidnapping a kriffing _geologist,_ starving him, _torturing_ him, in hopes of – what, now – satisfying a curiosity? Finding one escaped Sith prisoner? Oh yeah, solid moral ground, right there.”

Heilon lurched forward, raising a fist. Mordeo cringed and curled up into as small a target as he possibly could, given his bonds. But Heilon checked himself before he made physical contact and instead whirled around and made for the door. “A Jedi does not lash out in anger.” He left the room and swept the door shut with the Force behind him. He paced the outer monitoring room several times over as he centered himself in the Force, gathering the serenity of the Light Side within him before letting out a slow breath and sitting down at the computer console. He took one more breath before he lit up another tabac stick and flipped the switch on the monitor to observe his prisoner.

He couldn’t help but flinch. Mordeo had burst into tears the moment he had left the room, and sat there huddled in the corner, shaking and clutching the blanket tight around his shoulders.

Heilon stared at the screen for a long moment before swiftly turning the monitor off. He ran his hand over his face. “He’s a _Sith,”_ he muttered to himself, as if trying to convince his own thoughts of an obvious but difficult truth. “he’s a _Sith.”_

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Heilon busied himself with studying the updates that Weyler and Basrel had sent, both of the Balmorran front and of their own slow investigation into Cinaede’s probable location and possible destinations. But neither file was fruitful, and it was getting late. Heilon pushed away from his desk with a sigh and leaned to the side, once more flicking on the monitor that connected to the interrogation room.

The Sith was lying on his side, curled up with the blanket wrapped tightly around him. He was facing the camera viewport hidden in the wall, and despite his tension it was clear that he was sleeping, if fitfully. He twisted and flinched in his sleep, tugging on the bonds around his wrists as tears streamed down his yellowed cheeks.

Heilon frowned. “Sith have nightmares?” He leaned in to study the holo feed more closely, and as he did so Mordeo gasped, still unconscious, and called out in an anguish so poignant Heilon marveled that it didn’t kill him.

“ _A-_ _a_ _m_ _a –!_ _”_ Mordeo’s eyes squeezed tightly, and his fists balled white-knuckled into the folds of the blanket. _“A-afa –”_

With a jolt, Mordeo’s eyes flew open. He woke up in a cold sweat, and cast his huge, watery eyes around the room in a brief moment of unrecognition. But recollection came swiftly and he hunched in on himself, rocking back and forth as he hugged his own arms tightly. Heilon could here the barest of strangled whispers, certainly not meant for any ears to hear. “…Not a dream, is it…”

Once more, the tears began to fall. But they fell in silence, without another hiccough or shudder, robbed of all energy by Mordeo’s exhaustion. He just leaned the side of his head against the wall and let the tears fall as he stared vacantly at the floor.

Back in the monitoring room, Heilon recoiled from the console. He paced the small space rapidly, casting a glance back over at the screen before shaking his head. “He’s a _Sith,_ damn it…” He leaned over and shut the monitor off with a vicious twist of his wrist, and retreated back to his quarters for the night.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

But sleep didn’t come. Heilon found himself restless and barely even able to close his eyes. Instead he just stared up at the ceiling, an arm cast over his forehead. Every thought kept returning back to the image of that little Sith, cowering and shivering and begging for it all to be a dream.

Almost mercifully, his comm pinged.

“Heilon.”

“I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time, Burdock?”

“Ah, Tol Braga.” He shook his head at the audio. “No, never a bad time. Is everything alright with the Council?”

“I suppose it would depend on who you asked.” Braga’s voice sounded thoughtful, distracted. “The rest of the Council was wondering if you could rendezvous with us back on Coruscant as soon as you can.”

Heilon sat up in the dark and ran a hand through his short hair. “To what purpose?”

“Mm. Perhaps I should hand you over to Master Vansl.” There was a muffled shuffling over the comm, and the clear tones of Iseila Vansl’s voice came through.

“Apologies, Burdock. Tol Braga is somewhat hesitant to voice a discussion we have been having, but I have no such reservations.”

“Please continue, Iseila.”

“We are considering reorganizing some of our more prominent divisions, and would like your input. In light of these… ‘peace talks’ with the Sith Empire that are scheduled to take place on Alderaan in a few days, most of the Council feels it would be prudent to ensure we are at our most combat efficient.”

Heilon raised an eyebrow at the comm, an almost-smile threatening to quirk up one corner of his mouth. “That is hardly something to be hesitant about. It is basic preparedness.”

“Yes. But.” Her voice didn’t drop in pitch, but it certainly took on a further urgency. “It is almost certain that the talks will grow lengthy. It could prove an opportunity to strike at the Empire unawares, and off-guard. It would be wise to have our combat readiness at its peak effectiveness, would you not agree?”  
He nodded at the comm. “I do indeed. I believe it is the wisest move we could make.”

“I’m sensing some sort of exception coming.”

“Yes.” He got out of bed and crossed the room to where his robes were hanging. “You are aware that I am in pursuit of the Sith Lord who escaped our Coruscant confinement center, and have been slowed by their sudden disappearance.”

“Yes. And that you have acquired another prisoner that may know their location.”

“Indeed. I am close to a breakthrough here. The Force feels… primed for something important. I do not know what, as of yet, but I am drawn to remain.” He shifted the comm from hand to hand as he slipped on his robes.

“You must follow the Will of the Force, of course,” she assented. “None on the Council would deem it imprudent for you to remain where you are and continue with your current course of action. We can have your leading Knights and Masters direct the rest of Argent Legion to return to Coruscant, with your approval.”

He nodded once more to the empty air. “You have my approval.”

“Thank you, Burdock. Council out.”

He flicked off the comm and dropped it into its pouch on his belt before adjusting the collar on his robes and swiping open the door with the Force. He took the handful of strides to the boarding ramp of the ship, and slipped outside. If he couldn’t get any sleep tonight, perhaps a lengthy walking meditation and lightsaber practice session would help to center his mind.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Heilon stood outside the interrogation room’s door, one hand on the edge of a repulsor-tray loaded with a pitcher of water, a glass, and a bowl on a warming plate piled high with steaming food. He keyed in the lock combination and waved the door open with the Force, sliding it shut behind him.

Mordeo looked up from where he was curled back against the wall, the red puffiness around his eyes a telltale sign of his own nightmarish sleep.

Heilon slid the chair over in front of Mordeo’s bench as he usually did, only this time he brought the repulsor-tray in with him. He sat down and grabbed the pitcher, pouring a glass of water and handing it wordlessly to Mordeo.

He didn’t take it. His glaring eyes only glanced down at the glass in Heilon’s hand before fixing back on the Jedi’s face.

Heilon sighed. “If it were laced with drugs or poison, I could just simply force-feed you or inject it instead.”

Still glaring, Mordeo hesitated another long moment before reaching a trembling hand out to take the glass. It wobbled against his fingers, and Heilon had to support it with his own hand even as Mordeo tried to use both of his to steady the glass enough that he could drink. His first swallow sounded unnaturally loud in the confines of the cell, but once he managed to down it he eagerly – _desperately,_ Heilon noted with an inward flinch – drank the rest.

Heilon refilled the glass twice more before Mordeo slowed down, and even though the Sith was still somewhat futilely trying to shield himself in the Force, Heilon could still sense a flood of quiet and wary relief. He turned and grabbed the bowl from the repulsor-tray, fishing out a forkful of food and holding it out to the Sith. “I’m not handing you any utensils, Sith. Eat it from me, or not at all.”

His eyes narrowed to black slits on his face, and the loathing he held for the Jedi in the Force came oozing out of him like bog water from a mat of sponge-moss. But slowly he leaned forward and opened his mouth, baring his teeth in the process.

It took Heilon a good fifteen minutes to feed the Sith, hampered by the fact that he seemed to eat so very slowly. It wasn’t until the food was almost gone that Heilon noticed the even more palpable relief wafting off of Mordeo, despite his weak attempts at shielding. He had been _savoring_ it, Heilon realized. Almost as if he didn’t expect to ever get the opportunity again. Once again Heilon internally flinched, and he quietly reminded himself for the dozenth time that this creature was still, in fact, a Sith, and hardly merited even a wisp of imagined guilt.

It didn’t help. Particularly when he had given Mordeo the last bite of food and he had leaned back against the wall again, his eyes slipping shut as he swallowed, and the slow shaky breath that he exhaled once he was done.

It took Mordeo another moment to open his eyes again, and he raised a suspicious eyebrow up at Heilon. “What’s the… what’s the occasion?”

Heilon sighed as he tucked everything away on the tray. “I just need some time to think.”

The eyebrow only rose higher, but Mordeo just sat there and watched Heilon even as Heilon watched him back.

Finally Heilon scowled and got to his feet. He turned and left the interrogation cell without another word, taking the repulsor-tray with him.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

His new routine continued for three days. Heilon barely said a word to his captive, and Mordeo was equally taciturn with speaking. But within those three days of being properly fed and allowed rest, the waxy yellow of Mordeo’s skin turned back into a golden amber, and every now and again Heilon could feel his presence in the Force fluctuate from clammy and cold to a slightly-less-revolting fine mist.

But Heilon still didn’t know what to _do_ with his prisoner. If he could be confident that this lengthy gesture of leniency would actually gain results, he would certainly have the patience to follow through for as long as it would take. But he had little in the way of knowing for sure. The Force was not allowing him to see much in the way of the future of this Sith, not even a future in motion.


	3. Aranea.

Late into the third night of this potentially-useless routine, Heilon awoke to the subtle sound of his ship’s power altering currents. He sat up with a start, suspicion rapidly growing in his mind. He got up and immediately made his way to the door of his quarters, scowling in concentration as he reached out with the Force to sense any possible disturbances nearby.

But before he could focus on anything anomalous, he touched his door. A surge of electricity coursed straight through the lock, up his arm, and sent him reeling back to topple over the chest at the foot of his bed. It took him a dazed moment before he heaved himself back on his feet. “What… in the blazes…” He took a step towards the door and concentrated in the Force, focusing on the dance of electrons over the durasteel. “Clearly a different voltage than what I was using on the ship. Which means… someone has altered the current...”

Startled, he rushed over to his desk and flipped on the monitor. It took him a moment to find the pathway that allowed him to link in to the interrogation cell’s camera, and for the few seconds that it took to load he tapped the desk in aggravation. “There is no way he could have escaped. He… wait…”

The feed from the interrogation cell flicked into view, and although he had turned down the lights he could still see a dim outline of movement. Sure enough, someone had just slipped out of a gaping hole in the wall that had certainly never been there before. Their hands were held out in front of them, palm up, and they were speaking in hushed tones to Mordeo, who had backed himself into the corner in wide-eyed fear.

“Hey now, easy there. I know you don’t know me, but my name is Cinaede. Word got to me that you were captured in my stead because I fled that listening post, so I’m uh. Here to rescue you?”

As Heilon’s eyes adjusted to the dimness of the monitor, he could see Mordeo’s eyebrows shoot up in recognition of the name. “You’re the one…”

Cinaede nodded as she slipped a vibroknife from a pocket and gestured at Mordeo’s bonds. “Yeah. Sorry it took me so long. HeiHei’s almost as good at tracking and evading Sith as I am at tracking and evading, well, everything – and I wanted to be sure this got done right.”

“He’ll know you’re here.”

With practiced ease, Cinaede cut through the bonds holding Mordeo to the bench. She gently rubbed at his wrists, smiling brightly. “Oh, of course he knows. But that doesn’t mean he can _do_ anything about it.” She turned and waved directly at the camera, her grin practically brilliant.

Mordeo looked positively mortified. “There’s… a camera there?”

“Yeah. Say hi.” She offered a hand to Mordeo. “We gotta be quick, though. Force fields and electricity won’t hold a Jedi Master for long.”

Mordeo hastily took her hand, and she easily picked up the skinny Sith and vanished into the hole she had cut into the side of Heilon’s ship.

Heilon’s mouth was a thin line, and he ground his teeth at the now-vacant monitor. Inhaling a slow breath, he took a step back from the monitor and called his lightsaber into his hand. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the fact that he had little choice but to cut through the floor of his own ship. He ignited his blade and stabbed it into the laroon wood and durasteel below him. The few minutes it took to cut a hole through his floor seemed to pass by agonizingly slow, but the booming _clang_ of the chunk of metal hitting the ground below signaled his freedom. He dropped to the ground and reached out with the Force, zeroing in on Mordeo’s ever-present broadcast of distress that even Cinaede was having difficulty masking.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Heilon was soon hot on their trail. They may have had a good start, but because of Mordeo’s lack of legs below his calves, Cinaede had to carry him the whole way. Heilon had them in sight now, the gently rolling plains of Diervall IV’s plateau country not doing them any favours for finding a place to hide.

Cinaede must have known she didn’t stand much of a chance with her burden, as Heilon saw her slow and come to a halt beside a _tussik_ mound. She eased Mordeo down onto the mound and turned to face Heilon as he approached, drawing a pair of lightsabers as she stepped between Mordeo and the approaching Jedi. The brilliant red of her blades danced among the waving grasses, echoing the colour of the gas giant slowly rotating high above them. “Bring it, HeiHei.”

Heilon ignored the nickname and ignited his own blade, its pale green light burning brightly in the dark of the night. “Either you are stupidly brave or phenomenally reckless, to do battle with a Jedi Master on the Council.”

With the sharp crackle of tamed lightning their blades crossed, and Cinaede grinned up at him. “How about I’ll be the phenomenally reckless one, and you can be stupidly brave.”

Heilon refrained from rolling his eyes, if only because he needed both of them on Cinaede at all times to keep track of her movement. She was fast – much faster than he had initially anticipated, he had to admit. The clash of their weapons echoed repeatedly through the night air, exchanging rapidfire blows that never managed to graze their target.

But it did not take long for Heilon to take note of Cinaede’s one weakness, which may not have existed if this had been any other fight. She kept herself between Heilon and Mordeo at all times, sacrificing speed and potentially lethal maneuvers to ensure he was protected.

He pressed that unexpected advantage. A feint to the left and a few pushes from the Force, and he was nearly parallel with her and Mordeo, helpless on the _tussik_ mound. Cinaede scrambled to get between them once again, but her even playing field had been lost. She slowly lost ground as Heilon advanced on her, and as the distance between him and Mordeo was closing, he couldn’t help but smirk over the cross of their blades. “You were the one I was originally after anyway, Cinaede. What makes you so sure I would bother trying to get the other Sith back? Perhaps there is more to Mordeo than he let on. What does he know?”

Cin just rolled her eyes. “Hell if I know, I’ve never seen the guy before. Didn’t even know his name until you just mentioned it. Nice to meet you, Mordeo.” She flashed a brief grin over her shoulder at him, but had to quickly focus her attention back on Heilon to avoid a swipe of his lightsaber.

He was too close now. A sweeping arc of his blade nearly took off Cinaede’s left hand, but she managed to drop her blade and retreat at the last second. Heilon tried to use the Force to pull it into his hand, but with a blast of pressure Cinaede made his aim overshoot, and sent the hilt careening out into the grass. Down one lightsaber, she flexed her grip to both hands on her remaining one. “So uh. If I’m still the one you’re after, does that mean that if I surrender you’d allow Mordeo here to leave?”

“…What?”

“If I drop my saber. Would you let him go. He’s clearly not cut out for this. I am.”

Heilon’s advance hesitated, and he had only a few seconds to weigh his priorities. “…Yes, I would.” The memory of Cinaede’s casual ease under interrogation came rushing into his mind, and he couldn’t help but contrast it with Mordeo’s tears and trembling. He shook his head to clear it. “But you’re _Sith,_ Cinaede. _He’s_ Sith. He said that he didn’t even _know_ you. Why would you exchange your life for his?”

Cin just smiled. “Hey, we _don’t_ know each other. But the Imperium looks after its own. I came back to rescue whoever it was you had squirreled away in my stead, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Heilon raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Somehow I doubt your word.”

“Yeah, well.” Cinaede took a step back, deactivated her lightsaber, and dropped it on the ground at Heilon’s feet. “I doubt _your_ word, too. You’re Argent Legion, _and_ you’re Jedi Council. I don’t think you have enough honor in you to fill a baby aphren’s stomach. But…” she sighed. “But you have more than the Knights of Gallar, at least, and I am out of options. Spare Mordeo, allow him to leave. If it’s me you really want, take me instead.”

Mordeo finally spoke up with a squawk from where he was perched on the _tussik_ mound. “You can’t just _surrender,_ what kind of Sith do you think you –”

“ _Shush.”_ Cinaede swept a hand through the air and glared at him. “Not your decision to make.”

Heilon still held his blade raised at Cinaede, but he leaned down to kick her lightsaber up into his free hand. His mind was still reeling from this strange self-sacrificing behavior coming from a Sith, and he cast about in the Force for the most viable solution.

But the Force was not terribly communicative with an answer. He sighed and turned the hilt over in his hand. If he was entirely honest, even Cinaede wasn’t his final goal, it was knowledge of this elusive Tribunal of hers. “Instead of taking you into custody…I may… have an alternative.”

Cinaede raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Heilon’s words were slow, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he was sane for suggesting them. “…If you tell me more about this Tribunal, and this Imperium that seems to be attached to it – if you take me to a representative of this Tribunal so I can figure out just what in the galaxy is going _on,_ then I will let _both_ of you go.”

Cinaede hesitated and cast a glance back at Mordeo before crossing her arms and glaring up at Heilon. “If you plan on murdering whoever I manage to contact –”

“I won’t kill anyone if _you_ don’t kill anyone.”

Once again Cinaede and Mordeo exchanged looks. She sighed and gave him a lopsided smile. “Well, hey, what the hell. If it guarantees your safety, it’s worth it, right? You’re in no shape to try and get off this rock alone, anyway.”

Mordeo shook his head emphatically, his wormy head tendrils bouncing with the motion. “No – you don’t understand – this _Jedi_ is cruel and malicious and he’ll go back on his word and try to kill _both_ of us _and_ whatever representative of the Tribunal you’d find. He won’t just –”

But Cinaede just shrugged. “I’ve had the pleasure of his ‘hospitality’ as well, little guy. And the Jedi Order’s in general, to be honest. About what now, nearly two years of it? But if this is what gets HeiHei to shut up then maybe it’s worth it. And you’ve got me here now, okay? I’ll protect you, even if I die in the process.”

Mordeo slowly nodded. “…Your call.”

She turned back to Heilon and nodded once, sharply. “Fine. Deal. What now?”

“We’ll be taking whatever ship you have hidden here somewhere. Because there is a gaping hole cut in mine now, thanks to your break-out.”

“Two.”

“…What?”

Cinaede helpfully pointed in the direction of his ship and held up a pair of fingers. “Two holes, because you had to cut one in your floor to get out too, right?”

Heilon growled in the back of his throat, and Cinaede ducked back with a grin. “Right. Anyway. C’mon, Mordeo. Up you go.” She offered her back to the other Sith, and he climbed on with her help. Once he was comfortably on, Cinaede jerked a thumb to the southeast. “My ship’s that way.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Cinaede’s ship was small and streamlined, which meant that inside it was cramped and claustrophobic. But the cockpit was at least roomy enough, and the wide transparisteel windows gave it the illusion of being just a little bit bigger than it actually was.

Heilon resisted the urge to pace in the narrow strip of space between the seats. Cinaede had spent the last two hours in the pilot’s seat, navigating through encrypted channels and filtered transmission beacons. Mordeo was curled up in the chair directly behind her, wrapped up snugly in a thick fur blanket Cin had swiped from her quarters when they had first boarded. And Heilon sat in the copilot’s seat, twirling an unlit tabac stick between the fingers of his right hand.

But a green light pinged on the holotransmitter on the dashboard, and Cinaede flashed a grin at him. “Finally. Now behave yourself HeiHei, these are important people.”

Heilon ignored the nickname and sat up fully straight, interest piqued. “And who will I be speaking to?”

But Cinaede made a slashing motion in the air as the transmission whirred to life, coalescing into the fine blue lines of a hologram. “Can you hear me, my Lords?”

The audio crackled with static for a moment along with the visual before both shifted into clarity. A pair of identical Togruta covered in matching Sith runic tattoos nodded at Cin. “We can hear you, Lord Cinaede. We’ve been worried.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I know I just kind of popped off without much detail.”

The one on the left tilted her head. “Strange for you to contact us this way. Did you achieve your objective?"

“Well, almost.” She jerked a thumb behind her. “The Sith that had been captured in my stead is behind me. Name’s Mordeo. He’s alive, if not kicking. But there’s been a complication.”

The other Togruta narrowed her eyes. “With you, a ‘complication’ is usually a disaster of planetary proportions.”

Cin flashed her a sheepish grin. “Well… I won’t dance around it. Burdock Heilon is sitting next to me. You know, the Jedi Master that was in charge of torturing me when they transferred me to Coruscant. He wants to get in contact with a representative of the Tribunal.”

It might have been a trick of the hologram, but Heilon could swear he could feel their shock and violent anger in the Force. The one on the right thrust a finger up at Cin’s image. “Take your revenge and _kill him,_ Cinaede. Why would we _ever_ capitulate to a member of the Jedi _Council_ –”

Cin waved her hands in front of her. “Wait a minute, wait a minute! One, there’s no way I can win against a member of the Jedi Council in a straight-up one-on-one fight. Two, he’s here because he’s taking a meeting with a member of the Tribunal in exchange for letting me and Mordeo go free. That’s not _that_ hard to arrange, yeah? Besides, something makes me think we want this meeting to happen.”

The one on the left crossed her arms and raised a tattooed eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno, Misere. But…” She cast a glance over at Heilon and looked him up and down before turning back to the Togruta. “Sometimes his presence in the Force fluctuates in colours, when he’s actually listening to people. And that might be a thin thread to go on but if this opens up a dialogue directly between the Jedi Council and the Sith Tribunal, it might be worth pursuing.”

Misere held up a finger. “We’ll see. Valere and I must talk.”

Heilon tried to interject. “My presence in the Force does _not_ fluctuate –”

“They already put us on hold, they can’t hear you.” Cinaede tucked her hands behind her head and leaned back in her seat. “This might take a minute, HeiHei. Keep your robes on.”

Heilon pinched the skin between his eyes and sighed. “You never cease to be aggravating to deal with. You make things very difficult, for little reason.”

She only grinned wider. “I do, I really do.”

“I should remind you that your position is still precarious. If I am not satisfied by the contact that these Togruta Sith arrange –”

“Oh, shove it up your aft thrusters.” Cin rolled her eyes and kicked her feet up on the dash. “We both know you’re so desperate for Tribunal intel you’d put up with going to a family reunion full of nothing but a thousand clones of me.”

Heilon wrinkled his nose in disgust and veered the subject away into less distasteful waters. “Who are these Togruta, anyway?”

Cin shrugged and waved a hand absently at the static comm. “They’re sisters. Valere and Misere. Fellow assassins. We all run different teams.”

Before Heilon could clarify with any more questions, the comm crackled to life again. “Cinaede?”

“Yep.” She dropped her feet back to the floor and leaned forward. “What’s the verdict?”

Misere inclined her head, her expression quizzical. “Is there… a way that you can remain where you are for a few hours, and wait to receive a transmission?”

Cin flicked her gaze up at Heilon for a brief moment, raising an eyebrow. He nodded. “We can wait.”

“We can wait. What’s up, Misere? You two look as confused as if you heard Darth Dythemis try to crack a joke.”

Valere had to hide a smile at that, but Misere only shook her head. “There isn’t anything to be said. Your Jedi Master will get his wish. A… a contact representing the Sith Tribunal and Shadow Imperium will send you a transmission within several hours from now. Beyond that, there is little we can tell you.”

“Alright, I’ll take it. Thank you, you two.”

They both inclined their horned heads before cutting off the holo. Cinaede turned to Heilon and shrugged. “So I guess now we just have to wait.”

“I am patient.”

Cin just rolled her eyes and twirled an unenthusiastic finger in the air.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Two hours crawled by, broken only occasionally by a handful of awkward attempts at conversation that died after just a few sentences. Mordeo didn’t speak a word the entire time, only shifted restlessly in his chair. After twisting around to rest himself sideways he accidentally brushed the stump of one of his legs against the arm of the chair, and he cursed sharply to himself under his breath, flinching as he saw stars from the pain.

Cinaede rotated her chair around to regard him with a look of concern. “Are you okay?”

“ _No.”_

“What’s wrong?”

“ _Everything,”_ he snapped. _“He’s_ still here, and what’s left of my legs _hurts.”_

Cin leaned forward to study the kolto wraps Heilon had placed around the stumps of his calves earlier that evening. “These need changing. Would you let me…?”

Mordeo silently nodded, and Cin got up to open an overhead compartment. She dragged out a medkit and thunked it down on the floor beside Mordeo’s chair. A quick kick and it popped open, and she knelt down beside him to rummage through its contents. As she worked, her shoulders broadened and body thickened, and the voice that met Mordeo was gravelly and deep. “Okay, can you turn to face me? It’ll be easier to dress them.”

Mordeo scrutinized Cin’s newly-square jaw and narrower eyes, and he shrugged. “…Okay.” He obediently shifted position and stared down quizzically at Cin.

“Cinaedus, now. Feels easier to do healing this way.”

“Okay.”

Cinaedus carefully removed the old wraps from Mordeo’s legs, easing them off with a practiced hand as the blue glow of Dark Side healing power materialized in his hands. “…What happened?”

Mordeo shot Heilon a venomous look. _“He’s_ what happened.”

Cin grimaced. “You’re lucky to have survived a lightsaber fight with a member of the Jedi Council.”

“It wasn’t a _fight,”_ Mordeo snapped, “I was trying to _run away.”_

Cinaedus raised an eyebrow and shot a glance up at Heilon, who only stared back evenly. Cin _hmmed_ softly to himself as he gently pressed the last of the fresh kolto wraps to Mordeo’s leg and lightly patted his knee. “That’s an… interesting way to capture a prisoner. You’re done, Mordeo.”

Heilon snorted at Cin’s words, but before he could retort the comm pinged again. Cinaedus leaned over to activate the holotransmitter, and his eyes widened to see the multicolored face of a familiar Ho’Din Sith. She inclined her head. “Dark Lord, Darth Cinaedus. I am Dark Lord, Darth Aranea, of the Sith Tribunal. It is my honor to answer your request on behalf of Jedi Council member, Jedi Master Burdock Heilon.”

Heilon frowned at her introduction, and he leaned in to regard the hologram. “I have heard that name before. What are you to the Empire?”

Cin elbowed him in the ribs, but Aranea didn’t seem to think he was being rude. Instead she merely nodded. “I was formerly associated with the Sith Empire’s Imperial Science Bureau as one of their primary scientists and research leaders, but I disagreed so often and so strongly with its director that I left. The Shadow Imperium took me in, and I have long since become a member of the Imperium’s leading council, the Sith Tribunal.”

“Tell me about this Tribunal.”

Aranea’s gaze flicked sidelong to Cinaedus before shaking her head. “This holo connection is encrypted, but I do not trust it for any length of time. If you must speak with me, you will do so in person. I am currently in transit to your location.”

Heilon sat back in alarm, and he shot a venomous glare at Cinaedus. _“When did you transmit our location?”_

Cin just shrugged and kicked his feet up onto the dashboard. “Standard practice for a compromised assassin when they first gain a chance to communicate with their command. Valere and Misere pulled it from the transmission encryption, and sent it on to Aranea. How stupid do you think I am, to let an opportunity like that just slide by?”

Before Heilon could answer, Aranea cleared her throat. “Shall I meet with you, Jedi Master Heilon?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes. But I shall reiterate that even though this ship belongs to Cinaedus, the lives of both he and Darth Mordeo are in my hands. If you attempt to turn this into a trap –”

Aranea shook her head, her tendrils falling all around her shoulders. “It is not. You are presenting us with a unique occasion for a rare conversation, and I will not allow such an opportunity to go to waste. I trust you will remain honorable and treat my people with care until I arrive. I will be there within the hour.” The transmission flickered and winked out, leaving Heilon to blink at empty air.

The cockpit was thick with an awkward silence for several long moments. Cinaedus just leaned back in his chair and tucked his hands behind his head, while Mordeo picked at a corner of one of the adhesive strips keeping his kolto bandages bound.

Finally Heilon sighed. “This is the second time my honor as a Jedi has been called into question.”

Mordeo let out a derisive snort. “You actually have to wonder why?”

“Yes, I do.” He frowned over at Mordeo, who refused to look up at him. “The Republic sees the Jedi as _bastions_ of honor. Questioning it is… baffling and anomalous, to say the least.”

Cinaedus rolled his eyes. “Of _course_ they would, dumbass. You’re the _heroes_ of your people.” He shrugged and cast a hand back at Mordeo. “But you’re _no_ such thing to us. And why would we? The Jedi Council – and Argent Legion in particular – see Sith as nothing more than abominations to the galaxy, some _thing_ to be eliminated. Even the infirm, the elderly, the children and even infants are nothing to the likes of you, and we’re summarily slaughtered if we’re found. How can such a thing be seen as heroic or honorable to the people you’re so adamant about exterminating?”

Heilon blinked, but before he could form some sort of sneering rebuttal Cin had sat up and jabbed a finger in his direction. His gravelly voice grew higher and smooth, and once more the squared-off jaw softened as eyes grew larger and body slimmer. Cinaede scowled from her seat, her aura in the Force growing sharper as she changed. “Sith children are cautioned often about the dangers of the Jedi, and not to trust them if they find themselves in their path. Because all Jedi ever want to do is either kill you outright or purge you of everything that makes you who you are, and turn you into a puppet, a _shell_ of your former self, and call you ‘redeemed’. Am I wrong?”

Heilon hesitated. “It’s… not exactly like that.”

“No? What part of it is different? _Enlighten_ me, Jedi. _There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”_

He gritted his teeth at having his own code quoted at him from the mouth of a Sith, but he tried to ignore the goading. “…Purging and redemption are necessary, to rid the galaxy of the evil of the Sith. The only other way is death. So purging and redemption are far from being a detriment, and are in truth great mercies.”

Mordeo scoffed from behind them, practically spitting at Heilon. “Purging _is_ a death, you inflated _toad._ And to a Sith it’s often _worse_ than death.” His head suddenly snapped up and he stared at Cinaede. “Are we evil?”

She just shrugged in return. “Eh. I’m sure the families of the people I’ve killed would say yes.” But she waved a hand vaguely in Heilon’s direction. “And I’m sure that the families of the people that _he’s_ killed would _also_ say yes, _he’s_ evil. But does either way really matter? People are dead regardless. The galaxy is at war regardless.” Her voice grew quiet. “And some things are more evil than others, and sometimes it gets very difficult to tell the difference if you are already in the thick of things.”

Mordeo wrapped his arms around his knees. “I _wasn’t_ in the thick of things until _he_ showed up. Everything always ends up being the Jedi’s fault, in the end.”

Heilon glared sharply at Mordeo, but before he could say anything Cinaede had shook her head. “That’s far from being true. Neither the Jedi nor the Sith are innocent here. But if we’re pointing fingers, the only thing that I know for sure is that if I had to weigh the suffering that someone has caused in the galaxy, and will probably cause in the future, then the Emperor’s scale would be the heaviest.” Her gaze rivetted on Heilon. “He is planning to consume worlds, you know. Entire _worlds._ The galaxy itself, probably. I don’t know how, or even _why_ , but being who I am and doing what I do, I hear many things. I hear a lot of strange things, and a lot of true things, and a lot of vile things. And when something is strange _and_ true _and_ utterly vile, even I have to choose a side. I’ve chosen. I chose the Tribunal and the Shadow Imperium.” Her gaze flicked to the viewport, and she got to her feet. “Our company is here.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

In the pale light of early dawn, Heilon stood beside Cinaede as she held Mordeo on her back, all three of them waiting for the boarding ramp of Aranea’s ship to lower completely.

The tall Ho’Din ducked her head as she emerged from her ship and nodded to each of them in turn. “Dark Lord Cinaede – it is my honor to respond personally to your request for a meeting with a representative of the Tribunal. Lord Mordeo – I do not know you, yet I hope my presence does you honor as well. And Jedi Master Heilon.” She turned to him and inclined her head. “It is honorable to meet you face to face, without a lightsaber between us. I am indeed a member of the Sith Tribunal, and I am willing to converse with you about my people. Provided that Lords Cinaede and Mordeo return with me to the Imperium.”

Heilon cautiously nodded, disliking having to crane his neck so much to look up at her. “…That was our agreement, after all.”

“Indeed. I invite you all aboard my ship, where we can retreat to a safer space. I realize it is of no danger to _you,_ Master Heilon, but Diervall IV is within Republic boundaries and I am disinclined to remain here for long, perpetuating Lord Cinaede and Lord Mordeo’s already-lengthy peril.” She gestured to her ship behind her. “Though I do acknowledge that you may not be comfortable with that arrangement. I will not place you in any danger, though I understand if you doubt my word. If there is a way we can come to a mutual accord, I am eager to listen.”

Heilon hesitated, but focused himself in the Force and reached out with his senses. He pored over Aranea’s ship and her own aura in the Force, but sensed no deception at all. Neither could he sense any other living sentients aboard, and he sighed. “The Will of the Force has guided me to you. I have no other choice than to trust your word. For now.”

Aranea bowed lightly to him. “My word is my honor, Jedi Master.” She stepped aside and swept a long hand towards her boarding ramp. “You are all welcome to come aboard.”

Cinaede took a step forward. “So um. About that.”

Aranea turned to her, head tilted in question. “Yes?”

“Your ship is big enough to dock mine with it. Could we take mine along for the ride?”

“Of course, Lord Cinaede.”  
“Thanks.” Cin nodded in appreciation and adjusted Mordeo on her back as she shouldered past Heilon up the boarding ramp. “Gonna get ‘Deo to your med bay. You got a droid that can look at his legs?”

“I do not, but I can make him more comfortable until we can reach a destination where he can be properly treated. In the meantime, the med bay is at your disposal. Follow the hall curving to port, and it will be the third door on the left.”

“Righto.”

Both Heilon and Aranea watched her disappear into the ship, and Heilon cast a sidelong glance up at the Ho’Din. “I am taking a great risk, here, Sith.”

“As am I.” Aranea gestured with a hand to the stars above them, fading into the rising dawn. “I suggest we route to the station of Nar Aatra. It is nearby, and the Hutts have long abandoned the system, since the Twi’lek traders there established independence. They are friendly to both the Republic and Empire, once intentions of nonaggression are made clear, and would think nothing of our presence.”

He shrugged. “If you can manage to slog through their red tape, then sure. Jedi have had a notoriously difficult time getting official clearance to that station.”

Her smile was thin. “Perhaps because of the established pattern of using that clearance to ambush Sith convoys berthed there. But regardless, the station’s procedures should not prove an obstacle. Only time consuming. Once we are in hyperspace I shall transmit all the permits and clearances they require, and speak with whatever officials that I must. It will take a rather lengthy amount of time, as I am sure you are aware. In the meantime, you are welcome on any part of my ship.”

Slowly Heilon inclined his head, and together they got onboard.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

The ship was much more spacious than Cinaede’s had been, and Heilon took advantage of Aranea’s offer of free access to stretch his legs. He also capitalized on the potential to investigate a Sith ship, and found himself poking into every nook and cranny. Within two hours his explorations had drawn him to the back of the ship, and he slid open a door to find himself in some sort of atrium.

It was… extensive. Vaulted floor-to-ceiling transparisteel windows offered sweeping views of the stars, or in this case the warping effects of hyperspace. Potted plants ranging from mosses and herbs to trees that reached well over six meters above his head were arranged in circles and spirals along a winding walkway, and the climate control in the room was warm enough that Heilon had to loosen the collar of his robes. A myriad of shades of emeralds and greens were marked with the brilliance of a rainbow of blossoms in every shape and colour Heilon could possibly imagine, and probably extended far into the infrared and ultraviolet as well.

He had a hard time believing that all this beauty was the work of a Sith lord. But… he supposed that it meshed well with all the other alarming things he had recently discovered. Apparently Sith lords could be botanists, or geologists, and cry out for their parents when they were under a nightmare, and care enough about their fellow Sith to offer themselves as hostages and even risk their own lives to protect each other. A twinge of what could have been guilt threatened to percolate into his thoughts, and Heilon tried in vain to wave it away with a brush of his hand.

He picked his way along the path, the gentle rustling of leaves in the light breeze caused by the air circulation systems the only sound around him. He turned a corner around a particularly large palm and he suddenly came upon a hoverchair, just a few meters ahead and oriented towards the windows.

Mordeo glanced over from where he had been curled up in the hoverchair, and startled when he saw it was Heilon. Without a word he began to retreat down the other end of the path, headed towards the far door.

“…Wait, stay a moment.”

Mordeo threw another glare behind him, scoffing. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Heilon held up a hand. “But I have something to say to _you.”_

The look he got was nothing short of loathing. “There is nothing that you can say to me that I’d want to hear.” Once again he tried to retreat, but Heilon extended his hand and reached out in the Force. He yanked the hoverchair to a sudden stop and took the few steps remaining towards Mordeo, ignoring the rising look of panic in his eyes.

“Look. These past couple of weeks have been… difficult to grapple with, at best.”

The panic turned into a teeth-baring snarl. _“You’re_ not the one that was starved and tortured by a _monster_ for two weeks. You have _no_ room to talk. Let me _go.”_

Heilon flinched at the comment, but braced himself for the rest of his words. “I’ve only ever experienced Sith as an extension of the Dark Side. Barely even creatures, just… abominations that seek only destruction and chaos. This is… strange.”

Mordeo snorted. “Meaning you’ve only seen us that way because you only ever _decided_ to see us that way. Don’t deny it.”

“…I admit, I don’t _know._ Either way, it has been… jarring, and troubling. At first because I thought I might just be… going soft, finding excuses for something that was still truly evil, but… I am… finding it somewhat difficult to retain that conclusion.”

“If this is an apology, it’s a piss-poor one.”

“I… am not used to having done anything that needed an apology, before. But you… are…” He made a vague gesture to the hoverchair he still held firmly in the Force.

Mordeo’s snarl twisted into a grimace. “Just _stop._ I don’t want your _platitudes._ I don’t want your _pity._ You _tortured_ me for _days._ _You’re_ the monster here. You’re the Jedi Council’s patron of _Argent Legion._ You support an entire _armada_ of Jedi who believe that Sith are worth nothing to the galaxy, _are_ nothing to the galaxy except a blight on the Force and blood to be spilled. You can’t undo that. I don’t even know that you’d even want to _try._ And what are you even trying to _say_ here?”

Heilon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You should know that _you_ are the reason I started doubting that my knowledge about the Sith was truly knowledge, and began wondering if it is indeed just a form of ignorance.”

One eyebrow raised in confusion, and Mordeo scoffed. “Right.”

“You… dreamt, sometimes, while you were in my custody.”

Mordeo cringed and shifted in his chair. “I am _not_ talking about that.”

“You don’t have to. But seeing you so vulnerable was enlightening. And… damning. Not for you, but…”

“But for _whom,_ then? _You?”_

Heilon shrugged helplessly. “It… made you seem like an actual person, instead of a Sith. And because of that, I have begun to… question myself. To think that there might be the possibility that I may have caused someone to suffer greatly, who may not have deserved it.” His discomfort with his own words was growing, and he shifted where he stood. “I don’t even know one single event in your life. And… As unlikely as it might be for a Sith, you might not have even ever killed anyone, much less committed the atrocities so ubiquitous to your kind.”

“I _haven’t.”_

Those two words jarred Heilon like nothing else had. “…What?”

“I haven’t. Killed anyone.”

“Is that… true?”

Mordeo rolled his eyes. “I went through a Sith academy hosted on a world aligned with the Shadow Imperium instead of the Empire, so slaughtering classmates wasn’t really encouraged. I was raised by doting parents, and the master who chose me out of the academy to be his apprentice was exemplary. I gained my Darth title less than a year ago, and I’ve always focused on geology, because our academies offer more education than just ‘Murder 101’ and ‘Introduction to Subterfuge and Mayhem’.” He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Heilon. “Surprise, surprise, I’m an actual person _and_ a Sith.”

With every word that Mordeo had said, Heilon had grown more sober. And now he suddenly released his hold in the Force on Mordeo’s hover chair and shouldered past him, his expression stony. He left the atrium without a word.

Mordeo watched him leave in silence, and curled up once more in his hover chair. “…Dick.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Heilon shoved the cockpit door open with the Force, and Aranea turned to regard him with a raised eyebrow. “Fortunately I was between transmissions. What can I do for you, Master Heilon?”

He swept into the copilot’s seat, shaking his head. “Forget about Nar Aatra. Take me to the rest of this Tribunal.”

Her scaly eyebrows shot up nearly to her tendrils. “Excuse me?”

“This is not a negotiable demand. I must confirm, for myself, that _you,”_ he motioned to the entirety of the ship, “and the Sith you represent are _truly_ everything you claim them to be.”

Her head tilted slowly to the side, and her words were equally cautious. “…I had believed that was what we were already attempting to do, Master Jedi. May I ask why you must have the proof of the entire Tribunal?”

“It is the only thing that would be unequivocally undeniable. I need to know, in no uncertain terms, that they are as genuine and honorable as your fellow Sith have claimed. Take me to them.”

“…I see.” Aranea pursed her thin lips, deep in thought. “You request much. May I ask why you have made this sudden demand?”

“I must know if my perceptions still stand as strongly as I hope, or if the truth is more in line with what you claim.”

“…And if it is? What does that mean?”

He sighed and let his gaze drop down to his hands, clenched into white-knuckled fists. “…Because if it is, then I have made a horrible, horrible mistake.”

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Two days in open space. Two days of shifting hyperlane routes, skirting through neutral borders, and lingering in vacant systems. Two days of intensive, hours-long conversation delving into the strange workings of a shadow government within the Sith Empire so secretive that not even most of the Dark Council knew of its existence.

Aranea told him of such incredible things, things he would have dismissed as being outright unbelievable had he not had the experience of meeting Cinaede and Mordeo beforehand. He learned that thousands of worlds held fealty to this Shadow Imperium, that they had secret members scattered throughout the Empire’s systems and within every tier of their government, and even had a trusted sympathizer within the Dark Council itself. He learned that the power of the greatest within the Imperium rivaled the legendary strength of the most famous Sith Lords, and that they used their power not for spreading terror, but for protecting their people and for preserving their heritage. He learned that the Sith were not a monolithic entity of pure evil distributed among many corrupted bodies, but were in fact a patchwork of hundreds of thousands of cultures and ideals, united by a common thread of a passion for life and an appreciation for the depths and complexity of the Force. He learned that the Tribunal was indeed the primary ruling body of this Imperium, their members some of their most powerful and influential, and none of them had any desire to see the Sith Empire conquer the galaxy or the Emperor succeed in his ghastly plans.

It had been a lot to take in. Heilon still held much hesitation about believing the things that Aranea had told him, but he couldn’t deny that it appeared she was telling him the truth. And now he sat in the cockpit once again, one hand fingering his last unopened pack of Flyntarian tabac sticks while he waited for the comm to flicker once again to life.

Aranea cast him a sidelong glance. “I believe I requested that you not indulge in your habit aboard my ship,” she murmured. “And it has been appreciated that you have acquiesced thus far.”

“Mm.” He tucked the pack down into his pocket and sighed. “What is this all about, anyway?”

She shook her head. “I am unsure. Lord Litore’s message stated that they had to ensure they established a connection that was absolutely secure. Although since your presence here aboard my ship is not widespread knowledge, I strongly suggest that you remain where you are and not allow your image to project into the holo’s field of vision. And also to keep silent once we make contact.”

Heilon was about to argue with her, but the door opened and Cinaede slipped inside the cockpit, followed by Mordeo’s hoverchair. “You wanted us up here, Aranea?”

“Indeed. Dark Lord Litore of the Tribunal has some urgent information for us, and we are awaiting a secure transmission.”

Cinaede wrinkled her nose. “Litore? Ugh. What do _they_ want?”

Aranea sighed. “It would do you honor to show respect for a member of the Tribunal, no matter that they are newly appointed.”

“…Right. Sorry.”

The comm finally crackled to life, and with a hard look at Heilon, Aranea signaled her own encryption was active. The static coalesced into the head of a heavily tattooed Quarren, who nodded sharply at Aranea. “I will be brief. The peace talks between the Empire and the Republic on Alderaan were a ruse. Darth Malgus took the opportunity and used it to break through Coruscant’s defense grid and assault the Jedi Temple. Darth Angral deployed a fleet of warships to bombard the surface. The Republic’s forces have been decimated, Coruscant is in tatters, the Jedi’s temple has been destroyed and at least half of their Council has been killed. And because of this sudden turn of events, we believe we should convene at an Enclave to discuss the Tribunal’s options.”

Heilon’s rage at the news was white-hot in the Force, but he clenched his teeth and set his jaw. He had no way of knowing what the Quarren Sith on the holo would do if Heilon’s presence were discovered, so instead he just sat in furious silence, channeling his anger down into an unsettling calm.

Aranea was seething at the hologram. “Upon my honor, I will be at whatever Enclave the Tribunal requires. We will not sit still for this.”

Litore hissed through their beak. “I do not see how we can turn this one to our advantage, Aranea. But _something_ must be done.”

“The Emperor and the Sith Empire have dishonored the whole of the Sith through their actions, and the Tribunal can no longer afford to just quietly sit and gather power. We must act. Send me the time and coordinates of this Enclave whenever it is decided. I will be there.”

“Acknowledged.”

Without so much as a farewell, Litore cut the transmission and Aranea sat back with a slow sigh into her chair. She ran a hand over her face, shaking her head. “This is a travesty and a tragedy. It should never have happened. I am sorry, Master Heilon.”

He could only nod. Her own reaction to the news had also shaken him. His mind was still trying to take in the shock of losing the Temple and the Council, much less process sympathy and anger on his behalf – from a Sith, no less.

He centered himself in the Force and took in a slow breath. The Will of the Force was clear. “Take me with you to this Enclave.”

Aranea’s head jerked up, and she stared at him in alarm. “I do not believe it would be –”

“Take me there. Let me see this Tribunal in action. Let me confirm their intentions, witness for myself and in their own words what they intend to do for the galaxy.” He clenched a fist. “I must know, Aranea.”

She gazed at him for a long moment before slowly nodding. “There is no deterring you?”

“No. My course is set.”

Her eyes flicked to Cinaede and Mordeo, one holding nothing but incredulous suspicion and the other in horrified shock. She sighed and inclined her head to Heilon. “Then I will take you to them. Do not betray the trust that I am putting in you, to allow you that far.”

Heilon shook his head, his vision in the Force clearer than it had ever been.

“You will not regret it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was grueling, but fun!  
> Cinaede has many more tales to tell and Mordeo also has his own continuing story, and I'm hoping that one day I'll be able to write more of both of them as well as Heilon's continuing adventure in learning how to not be a shitty person.


End file.
